You've Got a Friend
by SmokeyTV
Summary: After his stalker is arrested, Nick struggles to make sense of what's happened to him and has to suffer through facing his tormentor throughout the trial. Picks up where "Stalker" left off and follows the aftermath through Crane's trial. Not your ordinary "post Stalker fic", so expect surprises and lots of angst!
1. Chapter 1

Nick Stokes choked back a sob as he nodded his head. "Yeah...yeah..." he agreed with the captain who was telling him it was over. But to tell the truth, he wasn't even sure of exactly _what_ had just happened. Jim Brass had his hand on the back of Nick's neck and was leaning over trying to look him in the eyes as he continued to try to reassure the CSI.

"It's done," the captain said again. When Nick finally looked up at him, seeming to understand him for the first time, Brass smiled and nodded. "It's done. C'mon...c'mon over here." He put his hand on Nick's shoulder and guided him toward the couch.

Even as he slowly followed Brass across the room, however, Nick's eyes were drawn to the man on the floor who was still struggling beneath the LVPD officers. But despite being held down and having his hands cuffed behind him, Nigel Crane wore a small smile on his face, and Nick could swear it was a sign of smug satisfaction. Even as he was hauled to his feet and taken to the door, Crane never took his eyes off of Nick.

Brass saw the non-verbal exchange between the two men and moved protectively in front of Nick, blocking his view as the officers took Crane out. "Come on...sit down," he said gently. As Nick did so, the captain moved to the front door and stepped just outside to call in what had happened. When he returned, his eyes swept the living room, taking everything in. He had arrived at Nick's house with two officers intending to station them outside to keep an eye on the place. But as soon as they neared the door they could hear the shouting inside. They didn't even bother trying to open the door, though Brass would see later that it had been locked. He had ordered the officers to break it down, and all he saw after that was Nick struggling with someone over a gun and a body on the floor.

Now that the commotion was over he looked at the mess on the floor and then turned his eyes upward to the gaping hole in the ceiling. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath. He took a quick glance at Nick who was sitting in the middle of the couch looking down at his hands as he twisted his fingers together nervously. He took a couple of steps toward the body and crouched over him.

"He's dead," Nick said numbly.

Brass looked back at him but Nick was still staring at his hands in his lap. He looked back at the body and sighed. He had known it...already called it in. There was nothing more he could do for this man, so he turned his attention back to Nick. "Hey..." He walked across the room and stood over him. "You okay?" When Nick nodded without looking him, the captain sat down on the couch next to him with a sigh. They sat in silence for a moment before Nick startled him by speaking again.

"Do you think…was he in here all that time? Watching me?"

Brass felt the anger welling up inside of him at the thought of the man who had caused all of this torment. "I don't know, Nicky," he said. "But we'll figure this thing out. Don't worry. We'll figure it out."

Nick did not respond and Brass did not speak again, the two of them sitting in silence, sirens wailing in the distance and drawing closer.

* * *

"How did Nick sound when you called him about Crane?" Warrick asked. He was sitting next to Catherine across the desk from Grissom in the supervisor's office.

"A little out of it, honestly," Grissom answered, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not sure he totally understood. But Brass will fill him in."

"How long you figure it's going to take to go through all of those tapes?"

"It depends on what we find…and what we're looking for. It's a lot of man-hours. Archie said it could take up to a week if we want all of it looked at…and that's if he gets some help with the rest of the cases he's working on."

"Well…" Catherine sighed. "We've got what we need on Crane for killing Jane Galloway. I don't think we'll need any more than what we've already pulled out…the tapes from her house."

"What if there were others?" asked Warrick.

"That he stalked and killed?" Grissom shook his head. "We don't have any unsolved cases that fit the profile. And even if he had others on tape…once we have him behind bars…they're safe. We'll have Archie go through them all just in case, but we don't need to put a rush on it."

"What about Nick?"

"Just a lot of talk about him so far." Catherine sounded relieved. "Unless we find any evidence he's been in Nick's house, I don't see any reason to go looking for anything on video. Let's leave it up to him if he wants to look through them or not. If it was me, I'm not sure I'd want to know."

"I would," Warrick growled. "And then I'd take care of the son of a bitch myself." He thought about the email Nick had shared with him…the photo of his date posed exactly like the murder victim…but didn't mention it. He looked at Grissom. "Do you really think he was in Nick's house?"

The man shrugged. "If he hasn't been yet, it was probably going to be his next move…seems to be the way he works. We'll go over there in the morning and check it out though."

Sara suddenly appeared in the doorway and leaned her head in. "Hey…guys? Brass just called in a 419...Nick's address," she said urgently.

* * *

They had taken two SUVs…Grissom and Catherine in one and Warrick and Sara in the other. Now all four of them stood next to their vehicles in the street staring at Nick's house. The area was swamped with police cars and officers, an ambulance, and the coroner's van. Several neighbors stood in the early morning darkness outside of the yellow tape, gawking at the scene and wondering just what had happened. The front door of the house stood open.

They had driven as fast as possible, not having any idea what they would find when they got to the house. None of them said it out loud, but they were all thinking the same thing. A 419…a dead body. But whose? And what else had happened? And most importantly, was Nick okay?

Catherine was the first to speak. "I guess we'd better…"

But Warrick was the first to move. He walked quickly toward the house and then broke into a run when he got halfway there. He blew right past the officer at the door who tried to ID him and into the living room where he stopped dead in his tracks. Assistant Coroner David Phillips was kneeling in the middle of the room next to a body that was face down. He looked up when Warrick rushed in.

"Hey, Warrick. I haven't moved him yet. You want to take some pictures first?"

Warrick stood with his mouth open, trying to process what he was seeing. "Pictures?"

"Yeah." David looked confused. "Of the body? You're here to process the scene, aren't you?"

_Process the scene? Is this a fucking dream?_ "Process…wait…Nick?"

"He's over there," David replied, still confused, as he pointed toward the couch. Then the realization hit him. His eyes grew wide. "Oh gee! Oh…I'm sorry! I thought…I'm sorry…I thought you knew. He's right there. This is…he's right there."

By now the others had made it inside the house and were standing behind Warrick. He broke out of his shock and looked where David had pointed. Nick was sitting on the couch with Brass beside him. "Nick!" He went over to him. "Are you okay? What the fuck happened here?"

When he did not answer right away or look up, Catherine went to him and knelt in front of him. "Nick?" She looked up at him and then at Brass.

"He's okay," answered the captain. "We got Crane. That's the psychic over there…Pearson."

She reached out and put a hand against Nick's face, and he looked at her. He didn't appear to bear any injuries other than the ones he had suffered earlier in the day, but he wore a blank expression, his eyes unfocused and distant. "Nick?"

"I think he had a few of those pain pills before we got here," Brass added.

She nodded at him and looked back at Nick.

He blinked his eyes several times and seemed to see her for the first time. "It's done," he whispered. His eyes shifted to Brass as if in search of confirmation. The captain nodded, and Nick looked up at the others who were standing there watching them. Despite his lingering fear he felt a twinge of embarrassment at realizing that he was the center of attention.

Now that the others were here and could look after Nick, Brass stood up. "Well, I guess I need to get down to the station…see what this freak has to say."

"I want to be there," Nick said softly.

Brass was already shaking his head. "Not until we get your statement, Nicky. We gotta do this right."

"I'll bring him down there," Warrick offered. He looked over at the door as the stretcher and body bag were brought in, ready to move Pearson out of the house, but he still needed to be photographed and processed for evidence. He looked at the body and then at Grissom for help.

The supervisor understood immediately. "That's a good idea. Uh…Catherine? Sara? You want to…?

They understood as well. Catherine put her hands over Nick's and squeezed them. "You go on with Warrick. We'll see you down there in a bit, okay?" She smiled at him and then stood up as Warrick came over.

"C'mon, man. Let's go."

Catherine, Grissom, and Sara stood next to each other, effectively blocking Nick's view of the scene in the middle of the room as Warrick held out a hand to help him up off of the couch.

Nick didn't have the strength to argue or resist, so he took his friend's hand and got up slowly with a groan of pain. Once he was on his feet, he took a deep breath and nodded. He exited the house with Brass and Warrick close behind, leaving the others to process the scene.

* * *

**I know it's a short chapter, but we're just getting started. :-) Not your ordinary "post Stalker fic...this is going to take us through what happened after the episode and on through the trial, so expect some surprises and of course some angst! Be sure to sign up for story alerts so you'll know when a new chapter is published. **** Thanks for reading and I hope you'll leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Nick didn't have the strength to argue or resist, so he took his friend's hand and got up slowly with a groan of pain. Once he was on his feet, he took a deep breath and nodded. He exited the house with Brass and Warrick close behind, leaving the others to process the scene._

* * *

Nick sat in the interrogation room, his splinted right arm on the table in front of him while the fingers of his left hand tapped nervously. He knew that Nigel Crane was somewhere in the building...in another interrogation room probably or a holding cell, but that wasn't what was making him nervous. He was still trying to figure out in his head what had happened earlier that night, and if he himself had questions then how was he going to be able to answer the ones that Brass asked him?

"Just tell him what happened." Warrick sat on another table in the room. "It's not like you did anything wrong, man. It's not an interrogation...you're just giving a statement."

"I know...I know. I just wanna..." Nick shook his head as if to clear it. "I just wanna get it right, you know?"

The door opened and the captain entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was just in time to see Nick try to cover up a yawn. He gave the younger man a smile as he sat down with a notepad and tape recorder. "We'll have you out of here soon, Nicky...let you get home and get some rest." He regretted it as soon as he said it when he saw Nick flinch. He knew Nick wouldn't be able to go back to his own home anytime soon, and Nick knew it too. But he decided to save that discussion for later and let the remark slide for now. "Are you sure this is okay? We don't have to do this here. We could go to my office."

Nick shook his head. "No...this is more...this is fine."

_More private_, Warrick thought. He had seen the way Nick had sulked through the halls of the police station when they arrived, hoping to avoid gaining anyone's attention. _What the hell happened back there, Nicky?_

"Okay...well..." Brass opened his notepad. "I just want you to tell me what happened, and I'm gonna take a few notes. I'm also gonna record it. Is that okay?"

"Yeah...sure," Nick agreed with a sigh.

"All right then...go ahead whenever you're ready."

"I was...um...it was after you guys dropped me off." Nick looked at Warrick.

"Warrick and Sara?" asked Brass.

"Yeah. They dropped me off, and...I had a little something to eat, and I was gonna go to bed, but...I didn't feel so good. So I took a couple of those pain pills the doctor gave me, and then I sat down on the couch. Then somebody knocked on the door. It was a little before one...I looked at the clock then, I remember." He looked at the captain.

"Good. Go on," the man encouraged him.

Nick cleared his throat. "Okay...so...I asked who it was, and it was some guy...said he was working on the case with Grissom. I got up, and I...I looked through the peephole. He said he'd had...visions? Or something, I don't know. I opened the door a little and he just...pushed his way in."

Warrick wrinkled his brow. He hadn't met the psychic, Pearson, but he wouldn't have wanted to let him in the house either. "Did you let him go up in the attic?"

"Hell no. I kept telling him to get out, but he said he saw something bad happening at my address. He was yelling about green tea and falling and crashing." Nick's eyes grew wide. "Aw…fuck…man…that's what happened! _Jesus_…that's…that's what he said and that's what happened!"

"It's okay, Nick," said Brass. "What next? Why did he go up in the attic?"

"I don't know. The phone rang...it was Grissom. When I hung up the guy had disappeared. Then I heard...noises...in the attic. Sounded like..." He gave an involuntary shudder. "Like something being dragged. I had my gun out, and then..." He shook his head. "Man...there was just...a crash...shit was falling on me...dust and shit...and he was laying there in the middle of my living room."

"Pearson?" Brass clarified.

"Yeah," Nick answered solemnly. "I went to check on him, and that guy...Crane...he jumped down out of there." He could feel his heart begin to beat faster as he remembered. "It took me a second to realize what was going on, and he got my gun before I could get to it. I musta...I guess I dropped it..." He hesitated and looked down. "He got it."

Brass could see the toll this was taking on the CSI. Besides being injured and drowsy from the medicine, he could tell that he was struggling as well with realizing that he'd been overtaken in his own home. A murder had been committed there and Nick himself had almost gotten killed. The sooner they got this over with and were able to help him deal with it, the better. But for now, duty called. "Then what happened?"

Nick looked up. "He locked the front door...closed the blinds. I told him the cops were coming and he said he knew...said he heard that. What the fuck does that mean? He _heard_ that?" He looked at Warrick. "Did he bug my phone? Or was he hiding somewhere listening?" He looked back at Brass.

The other two men looked at each other, but neither knew what to say. Right now they didn't know much more than Nick did. Warrick answered him, "I don't know, man. But we'll find out."

Nick was getting more and more agitated as he described what happened and began to realize the full scope of what might have gone on in his own home. "He was saying all kinds of crazy shit...talking about posing Jane as a 'gift' for me and watching me sleep. Watching me _sleep_, for Christ's sake!" He leaned back in the chair and looked at the ceiling, not wanting to believe what he was saying. "Jesus...he was wearing my clothes. Said he picked them up at the cleaners. I...I thought I was going crazy...forgetting things...losing things...he stole my clothes! He wore them…he's _still_ wearing them!"

"Hey...hey...calm down, Nicky," said Brass. "We'll get 'em back to you."

"No! God no! You think I want them _back_? I don't want them _back_! I don't want anything from him! I don't want anything to do with him!"

Brass held his hand up. "Okay...okay...I'm sorry. Don't worry about it. It's gonna be okay."

Warrick went over to the table and took a seat next to Brass. "C'mon, Nick...we're just trying to help you out and figure out what happened."

"What happened? What _happened_ is...he was talking about opening up the body on the floor and then he got pissed at me for something and he had the gun on me and he made me stand up and he was yelling about how I was ignoring him all the time now that we were friends..._friends_...that's what he said...that we made friends when he installed my cable that day! Hell...I barely remember having it done let alone making _friends_ with the guy that did it! And then he's...he..."

"Nick, you wanna take a break?" Brass asked.

"No! He...he...he made me stand up...he's got the gun in my face and...and he asked if I knew what it would do at close range and he's talking about blowing a head apart and brains and bone and stuff and I'm...I'm thinkin' he's about to kill me and then he says somethin' about how I'd have to put names on everything and…"

"Slow down, man." Warrick looked concerned.

Nick's dark eyes were wide as he turned them on his friend. He spoke deliberately now. "I thought he was going to kill me. He had the gun..._my_ gun...right in my face. And then he put it under his chin...said he wanted me to remember his name. And he put the gun under his chin."

Brass had been looking grimmer the longer this went on, realizing the full extent of the trauma Nick had been through, and now they were at the culmination of the events. "And that's when we came in?"

"Yeah...yeah..." He nodded, wearing nearly the same expression he had just a short time earlier as the officers broke into his house and subdued Crane. "I tried to get the gun away from him...and you guys came in...and got him." He looked at the captain. "You got him."

"Yeah, we did, Nicky. We got him. You don't have to worry about him anymore, okay?"

"Sure...yeah..." He tried to sound convincing.

"Well..." Brass turned off the recorder and closed his notepad. "That's enough info for now, I think. The DA's gonna want a full deposition at some point though, you know."

"You think there's gonna be a trial?" Warrick asked incredulously. "That guy's off his ass whacked out. A defense attorney'd be crazy himself if he didn't make him plead insanity."

Brass stood up and headed for the door. "I don't know, Rick. We'll have to see what happens. I'm gonna go interview him now. You guys leaving?" He knew better, and sure enough Nick was shaking his head. "All right. I can't let you watch, Nick. You know that." He looked at Warrick. "And I think you'd better stay with him."

Warrick nodded. "We'll hang out here. You'll check back with us?"

"Sure." He took one last look back at Nick and then left the room.

When Nick didn't say anything after the captain left, Warrick spoke up. "So uh...Nick...you wanna stay here? Or go out front...get something to drink or something?"

Nick ignored the question, his attention focused on his fingers which were tapping on the table again. "You said there were tapes."

"Huh?"

"Grissom and Catherine found tapes at his house. What was on 'em?"

"I don't know, man..." When Nick glared at him he knew he had to come clean. "Well...I saw a little bit," he added sheepishly.

"What'd you see?"

"All I saw was...when Sara and I got there they'd already watched a bunch. I guess...well, you know the guy had been filming Jane...from her attic."

"Yeah."

"They saw a bunch of that footage. I didn't see it. The one they were watching when we came in...he was at his own house, I guess...up in his attic. Remember Grissom said he lived up there?"

"Yes," Nick answered impatiently. "What else? What did you see?"

Warrick really did not want to tell him any more, but Nick was his friend and he knew that if the situation was reversed he would want to know. Out with it then. "He was talking about you. He had our newsletter with the Crime Stopper article in it...tacked up to the wall in his attic."

Nick felt his stomach drop. His mouth was dry, but he managed to croak out, "What?" Warrick started to speak again but Nick interrupted him. "He what? What...why? Why did he have that? Where did he get it?"

"I don't know, man."

"He talked about _me_? He was talking about _me_? What did he say?"

"It was just crazy shit, Nicky...don't worry about it."

Nick stood up from the table and began to pace. "I want to see it. No...I want to see _him_. Where'd they take him?" When he didn't get an answer fast enough he spoke again, his voice raising. "Where'd they _take_ him, Warrick?"

"C'mon, man...calm down."

"Easy for you to say." Nick shot back.

"You can't see him yet. You know that."

Nick stopped pacing and stood next to Warrick looking down on him. "What did he say about me?" His voice shook, partly from rage, partly from fear.

Warrick sighed. "He said something about how he could count on you and you'd lay down your life for him." That was it...he wasn't about to tell Nick the part about Crane wanting to stop his heart.

Nick sat back down heavily in the chair. He put his hand over his eyes and rubbed them. "Jesus...why is this happening? What the fuck is going on, Warrick?"

His friend had no idea what to say at this point, but thankfully for him he didn't have to. The door opened and Catherine stuck her head in. She turned and called over her shoulder, "Here they are...in here!"

"Hey guys," Warrick greeted them as Catherine, Sara, and Grissom joined them in the room. "How'd it go?"

"It went fine," Catherine answered. "Nick? How are you doing?"

He took his hand away from his face gave her a weary smile. "I'm okay. What'd you find?"

She glanced at Grissom and Sara before giving him a brief smile back. "Standard stuff...nothing to worry about. We processed the body and secured the gun...bagged a few other things."

"What things?"

"Nick," Grissom joined the conversation. "Why don't you call it a night and we'll talk about it tomorrow?"

He looked at each of the three of them individually before asking, "Are you guys keeping something from me? I want to know...I _need_ to know."

"No...no...we're not." Catherine sat next to him at the table. "I promise...whatever we find...however much you want to know...we'll tell you."

"Hey, Nick...come on. I'll take you back to my place and you can hang for the night...get some sleep." Warrick offered.

"I want to go home."

Grissom shook his head. "I'm afraid you can't do that, Nick. We haven't released it yet. It's still a crime scene."

"Well I'm a Crime Scene Investigator!"

"Not on your own case."

Nick glared at him. "I can't just...I need some stuff...you can't just keep me out of there. It's my house!"

"We'll stop by there," said Warrick interjected, trying to ease the tension. "Okay? I'll go in and get some stuff for you. Okay?" When Nick just looked at him, he asked again, "Okay?"

"We'll get you back in there as soon as we can, Nick," said Sara.

Realizing that they were right, but hating how helpless he felt in the situation, Nick finally agreed. Honestly, right now he was just starting to not care anymore. He was upset, exhausted, and the pain medication he'd taken earlier had long ago worn off, especially after his struggle with Crane. "Yeah...okay. I wanna talk to Brass again though. I wanna know what he said."

The others looked at each other, not sure about granting that request. "Nick," Catherine said gently. "It might be awhile. I don't think you need to wait around. Why don't you..."

There was a quick knock on the door and then it opened. The captain came in. "Thought I'd find you all here."

"Jim..." Nick stood up. "You're done already? That's not right. What the hell? Did he clam up?"

"He asked for a lawyer. He ain't talkin'. Well...he's _talkin'_...he's just not saying anything."

Everyone looked confused. "What does _that_ mean?" asked Sara.

* * *

Nigel Crane sat guarded by two officers in the interrogation room, mumbling over and over again. "I am one. Who am I? I am one. Who am I?"

"Why me?"

It was a simple question that Nick asked in the silence of the observation room as he and the others watched Crane babbling on the other side of the one-way glass. But it spoke volumes. An ordinary work day had turned violent as he was victim to an attack, and then later in what was supposed to be the safety of his own home...his peace of mind, his security, his privacy...every aspect of his life had been violated and his world shattered. And this was the cause? This one crazy, bespectacled little man? Nick asked the question. Why me? But besides wondering why Crane had picked _him_ as the object of his obsession, he wondered why he was once again being made a victim. Why did it always happen to him? _Why me?_

"I don't think it was about you, Nick," Grissom said. "Or Jane Galloway, for that matter. I think it was more about Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. His premise is that social beings strive to belong. In Nigel's mind, Jane Galloway was someone he could control which was okay for a while but you... you were someone he could actually become. See, Maslow's fifth tier of the hierarchy is Self- Actualization. The problem for Nigel is that you would have to die in order for that to happen. Or else he would."

Nick turned his head slightly in Grissom's direction to listen as he spoke. _ Really? He's gonna give me a fuckin' psychology lesson? Now? _He looked back at Crane.

From behind him, Sara watched as he stared at the man on the other side of the glass. She wanted to try to make him feel better...safer...but all she could come up with was to make sure he knew the man would be going to prison. "Twenty-five years to life, Nick. It's over."

_Over? For me? Hardly._"It's not over for me. It's over for Jane Galloway."

No one knew what to say. He was right. Jane had paid the ultimate price for a crazy man's obsession. Her fear and suffering were over. Nick had lived, but living came with a price as well. Even with the man behind bars, they knew that Nick was going to be dealing with the consequences of what had happened for a long time.

Catherine sighed. "Well, we should get back to the lab." She put a comforting hand on Nick's shoulder as she passed behind him on her way out.

"Yeah," Grissom agreed, and he too headed for the door.

Sara and Warrick left as well, leaving Nick alone, still staring through the glass.

"I am one. Who am I?" Crane continued to repeat it as he stood up and walked toward the window. There was no way for him to know that Nick was on the other side, and yet he stared intently and reached out as if trying to touch him.

Even as the man came closer, all the way up to the glass, Nick stood his ground. He did not move, nor did he flinch or react when Crane reached out toward him. He kept his eyes on the man as the officers in the room came and took him away. And he continued to stare for a full two minutes after that.

"Nick?" Warrick stuck his head back into the room. He had figured that Nick would want a moment alone and would come out when he was ready, but after seeing Crane being led away and waiting he decided to check on him.

Nick jumped, startled by his voice.

"Sorry, man. Didn't mean to scare you. You ready?"

Nick had expected to him to ask him if he was okay and was silently thankful that he hadn't. Everyone kept asking him that. It was a ridiculous question. How could he possibly be okay after all of this? "Yeah...let's go."

* * *

Neither of them had spoken a word during the ride to Nick's house. Warrick thought it best to wait and see if Nick wanted to talk, and obviously he didn't. Warrick looked over at him a few times to see if maybe he had fallen asleep, but Nick sat up straight in his seat looking out the window as they drove through the quiet neighborhoods away from the bright lights and noise of The Strip.

Warrick pulled the car up in front of Nick's house. There was one marked police car parked out front. One officer sat behind the wheel and a second stood on the doorstep of the house. Yellow crime scene tape was stretched across the doorway. He noticed Nick staring at it and then looking away, lowering his head. "What do you want me to get for you?"

Nick looked wistfully at the house again. "How long do you figure before I can get back in there?"

"I don't know, man. Couple of days maybe before the scene's released…maybe sooner. You could get in there then to get some stuff, but…as far as living there…"

"Just…" Nick shook his head. "I don't want to think about that yet. Just to get some stuff."

"Couple of days then. You can stay at my place as long as you want."

"Thanks," he said without much enthusiasm, although his friend knew he meant it. "I guess then…just a couple of pairs of shorts…pair of jeans…couple of t-shirts?"

"Skivvies too," Warrick added. "You ain't wearin' mine." He was happy to see a hint of a smile on Nick's face. "I got an extra toothbrush and stuff…don't need to worry about that." Warrick took his seatbelt off. "Be back in a minute." He got out of the car and went around it, heading for the house.

Nick rolled his window down and called out before he had gotten very far. "Hey! Can you bring me my prescription? The bottle's on the counter in there…unless they bagged it too." He rolled his eyes.

"No problem." Warrick turned and continued toward the house. Ten minutes later he returned to the car with a plastic grocery bag containing the items Nick had asked for, and they headed to Warrick's place.

Once they arrived at Warrick's house, Nick sat on the couch while Warrick went into the bedroom for a moment. When he came back out he found that Nick was leaned back into the cushions with his eyes closed. He whispered so as not to awaken him if he was sleeping. "Nick?"

"Yeah?" Nick inhaled deeply and let out a long, tired sigh as he opened his eyes. He saw Warrick standing in front of him with a pillow and a blanket. "Thanks, man." He reached for the items.

"No…these are mine. You get the bedroom."

"I can't do that." Nick shook his head. "I'll be fine out here."

"Huh uh. I got a court date tomorrow before shift, so I won't be sleeping long anyway. You take the bed and get some rest."

It really did sound very tempting. Nick was so sleepy…so exhausted in both body and spirit. "Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yep. C'mon…I got your stuff in there already."

"Okay…okay…thanks again, Warrick. I really appreciate it." Nick's voice broke a little as he said the words.

"Anytime, man," Warrick said sincerely.

Nick thanked him again and then headed to the bedroom. He closed the door behind him and took it in. The room was much neater than the rest of the house…everything dusted and the king size bed made with lots of soft, clean linens. _Leave_ _it to Warrick to make the bedroom the best room_, Nick thought, laughing a little thinking about all of the tales of romantic conquests his friend had told.

He saw his Vicodin on the nightstand next to a bottle of water and gratefully gulped down two pills and half of the water. He put the cap back on the bottle and set it down, then walked to the window and looked out. Dawn was breaking, half of the sky still dark and half of it beginning to show the light of day. The woman next door was already up and outside, picking up the morning paper. She glanced his way as she walked back to her house and gave him a wave. He shuddered and quickly pulled down the shade.

Too tired to think about washing up or brushing his teeth, he changed out of his clothes and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed and considered the splint on his wrist. It wasn't very comfortable, but he figured rolling over on his arm without it during his sleep would prove even less comfortable, so he left it on. He turned the light off and eased his aching body down on the bed with a groan. The comfort of the soft mattress and pillow and the fresh smelling sheets was immense, and he could feel himself starting to relax almost immediately. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. The room was a bit warm, yet he reached down and pulled the sheet up to cover himself. He had never really been able to sleep well on his back, preferring to lie on his stomach, arms under his head, or on his side with his legs curled up. But it was only a matter of minutes before he drifted off, still on his back, the sheet pulled up to his chin.

* * *

******AN: Dialogue in the short scene where they're watching Nigel comes directly from the episode, not from me. You'll recognize it, but I needed to put a disclaimer on it. :-)**

**Thanks so much for reading! I hope you'll leave a review and let me know what you think! Thanks again to JacquiT for being a sounding board for me. Chapter 3 to come soon!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

_He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. The room was a bit warm, yet he reached down and pulled the sheet up to cover himself. He had never really been able to sleep well on his back, preferring to lie on his stomach, arms under his head, or on his side with his legs curled up. But it was only a matter of minutes before he drifted off, still on his back, the sheet pulled up to his chin._

* * *

The sun had been trying to break through the window shade all day, and finally in the late afternoon it was able to creep around the edge of the blinds and snake along the bed in a thin line headed directly for and over Nick's right eye. He squeezed both eyes shut tighter but did not move. He was still lying flat on his back in exactly the same position in which he had fallen asleep hours earlier. He knew that was going to make for some aching muscles when he got up, but he was thankful for the heavy, dreamless sleep, most likely induced by the pain medication he had taken before going to bed.

Resigned to the fact that he was going to have to get up eventually, he moved his head out of the sunlight before opening his eyes. He reached for his cell phone on the nightstand and looked at the screen. 3:58 PM. There were also several text notifications from friends and co-workers most likely checking to see how he was doing. He cleared the notices without reading the messages and put the phone back down. He sat up on the edge of the bed, and just as he suspected his muscles protested, angrily coming to life. He leaned over, elbows on his knees, head lowered for a moment to gain some strength before standing up. He glanced sideways at the prescription bottle on the table but decided against it for now. He wanted his mind as clear as possible today as he tried to comprehend everything that had happened in the past 24 hours.

He stood up with a groan, arching his back a little to stretch his sore muscles before he padded off to the bathroom. Once there, he looked at himself in the mirror, turning his head from side to side to examine it. He put his hand to his face and felt the stubble there. Warrick had left a disposable razor along with the towels on the sink, but he dismissed it. He moved his hand to his forehead and gently touched the bandage that covered his stitched cut. Blood still showed through, and he thought it best to leave it on for now. Quite frankly, he was feeling a bit nauseous and wasn't sure he was up to seeing what was underneath it. He tilted his head to the left, eyeing the cut on his right cheek and then lifted his chin to look at the longer scrape on his neck.

When he was finished examining his face, he carefully removed the splint from his right wrist, drawing in a quick breath at the pain it caused. Once it was off it was obvious why it hurt so much. The doctor had told him sprains could be worse than breaks sometimes, and looking at his arm right now he didn't doubt it. It was a myriad of colors from the tips of his fingers to his elbow. Hues of yellow, purple, and green covered the limb, looking like something he might see on Doc Robbins' table instead of on his own body. Laying the splint aside, he crossed his arms and grabbed hold of the ends of the t-shirt he was wearing and gingerly pulled it up and over his head. He looked down at his bare chest, his eyes drawn to the bruises on his right side where he'd landed after flying out of the window, cracking two ribs. He traced over them lightly with his fingers, remembering what the doctor had said. _It could have been a lot worse._ With a sigh, he put his fingers in the waistband of his shorts and started to pull them down but stopped as he caught a look at the open bathroom door. He put a hand out to close it, thought a second, and then locked it before removing the rest of his clothes.

He pulled the shower curtain back and leaned in, turning the water on almost as far to the hot side as it would go, then flipped the lever that started the shower. The steam filled the small room almost instantly and he stepped inside the tub, pulling the curtain shut behind him.

He closed his eyes and let the spray hit his face. For a moment he just stood there letting the hot water run down the length of his body. For a few seconds it was too hot, but he quickly got used to it and the temperature felt just right. He let the water soak him from head to toe in the front and then turned around and let it fall on his shoulders and cascade down his back. His muscles instantly responded, relaxing as they bathed in the warmth and releasing the tension they had been holding onto. He lowered his head, putting his hands on the tile wall in front of him, and felt the water on the back of his neck beginning to ease the tightness there. He let out a sigh as he gave in to the soothing effect the water was having on his body.

In a corner of the tub he saw a bottle of high-end department store men's scented shower gel and he laughed a little to himself, imagining Warrick paying that much money just to smell good. His lower right arm was still tender and aching, so he picked up the bottle with his left hand and poured some of the gel onto his chest. He had forgotten to grab a washcloth on the way in, so he put the bottle down and used his left hand to rub the soap over his skin until it formed a thick lather.

He gathered as much of the lather as he could in his hand and used it to quickly cleanse the rest of his body, taking care not to slip or lose his balance. _That's all I need,_ he thought, _after all this…to break my neck and end up dead and naked in Warrick's bathtub. _He slowly turned around a couple of times, letting the water rinse the soap off of him. A thought then occurred to him, and he looked around the tub again but did not see what he was looking for. _Ah well…what the hell?_ He picked up the shower gel and put a small amount on top of his head and then rubbed it into his short, wet hair. It lathered up quickly, and he then ran a soapy hand over his face, eyes tightly closed, taking care not to disturb the bandage on his forehead. He leaned over and stuck his head under the spray of water, letting it rinse the soap out of his hair, and then turned the water off.

He pulled the curtain back and stepped out of the shower onto the bathmat. As he was reaching for the towel, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He hadn't really been dirty before…sweaty and a bit grungy maybe, but not dirty. And yet he could see the difference now with the water still dripping off of his body. He looked refreshed and anew. At least on the outside. He looked away and wrapped the towel around himself before leaving the bathroom.

* * *

Warrick ducked under the yellow tape across Nick's front door and went inside. "Hey, guys...how's it going?"

Grissom and Catherine were sitting on the couch in the living room, their kits open on the floor in front of them and various pieces of equipment scattered about their feet. Catherine looked up at the sound of his voice. "It's going okay. We're about to finish up for now. How's Nick?"

"Still sleepin' when I left. He still seemed pretty out of it when we got home. So what'd you find?"

"Not much." Grissom closed his kit and stood up. "There's nothing here to really say that Crane was stalking Nick...at least not like he did Jane Galloway."

"What? Are you saying Nick's lying?" Warrick asked, an edge to his voice.

"No, Warrick, that's not what I'm saying," Grissom replied evenly. "I'm saying there's nothing here to prove it. No equipment in the attic…no holes in the ceiling."

"_I_ see a hole in the ceiling," Warrick shot back.

"Yes, well...that's not the kind I was talking about."

Warrick put his hands on his hips and said angrily, "So...the guy stole Nick's clothes...said he watched him sleep...killed a man in here...but Nick's making shit up."

"Calm down, Warrick, I didn't say he made it up. I think Crane was on his way to _progressing_ to stalking Nick to the level that he stalked Jane...but the appearance of Mr. Pearson forced his hand. Everything accelerated and Crane had to kill...probably thinking he was protecting Nick."

"And then he tried to kill Nick too? That doesn't make any sense."

"I don't think it ever _will_ make sense. Crane's suffering from a severe form of psychosis, and I think having everything disrupted like this totally threw him off. We may never know what he was thinking…or planning." Grissom walked to the door and turned around. "Catherine? Are you coming?"

She looked from him to Warrick and back again. "I...think I'll catch a ride back with Warrick. See you there." After he left she said to Warrick, "You need to relax a little bit."

Ignoring her suggestion, he asked, "Are you guys done here?"

"For now." She sighed. "We aren't releasing it yet...depends on the results from some of the stuff we got."

"What'd you get?"

"Last night we took Nick's gun and then mostly got photos...processed the body but didn't find much there. We took Nick's laptop in...we'll see if we can find anything related to that email from his prom date...or anything else weird on there."

"What'd you get today?" he asked.

"Mostly prints. A ton of them. We'll have to see if any of them are Crane's…get an idea where he might have gone in the house. We got some off of the access panel to the attic in the back bedroom and around the house. And Grissom went up on the roof and got some from the window there."

"Was it open?"

Catherine nodded. "A crack...just enough for..."

"For Crane to get his hand in and open it up," Warrick finished for her.

"Yeah." Her eyes swept across the room. "If you want to take a look around, be my guest...see if you can find anything. But nothing else looked out of place to us."

"Nick would be the one to know if anything's out of place."

"You think he's up to coming back and looking?" Catherine asked skeptically.

"I don't know...guess we'll leave it up to him." Warrick sat down next to her on the couch with a sigh and looked around the room then up to the hole in the ceiling. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

She nodded grimly. "The DA probably won't bring charges on stalking Nick...or even Jane. Just the murders."

"And this guy's gonna get off on an insanity plea," Warrick added disgustedly.

* * *

Gil Grissom was used to surprises in the morgue. He had frequently entered to find Doc Robbins singing to loud rock music and dancing with an air guitar. At other times the affable coroner was performing his deliberate and precise work to the sounds of smooth rhythmic blues. The man had even been known to brew his own hot macchiato in the cool dimness of his work space. But on this particular day Grissom got an even more unexpected surprise.

"Inconclusive?" he asked disbelievingly.

"That's what I said," answered the coroner matter of factly as he put an x-ray up on the lightboard to show him. The pale image of a human skull showed up and Robbins pointed to an area just below the base of it. "Right here...the C3 and the C4 vertebrae...one snapped...one crushed."

"So he died from a broken neck?" asked Grissom.

"That would do it."

Grissom tilted his head and asked, "And...how is that inconclusive?"

Robbins held up his gloved hand and indicated with a finger for Grissom to follow him. They walked over to where the recently deceased psychic lay on the examination table, the lower half of his naked body covered with a sheet. "Have you ever been to a psychic?"

Grissom wrinkled his brow. "Once. In Reno. But it's a long story. Can we get back to this one?"

"Mr. Pearson wasn't a very good one, I guess, or he would have seen this coming."

"He might have, according to what Nick said," replied Grissom.

"Really?" The coroner sounded impressed. "Well, it was the broken neck that did him in, but I see no other injuries on him or any bruises or marks around his neck that appear to be from hands or fingers. I can't rule on the cause of the break…could have been before or after the fall."

"Keep him here for awhile, will ya, Doc? I'm going to have Warrick photo enhance those bruises and see if anything else shows up."

"You got it." As Grissom turned to leave, Robbins asked, "How's Nick?"

Grissom continued out the door as he called back, "He'll be all right."

* * *

"You up?"

It was Warrick calling on the phone. Nick had lain down on the couch after his shower, meaning to just rest a little, but he had awaken several hours later in the dark. It had frightened him at first. He wasn't sure where he was and stood up, trying to find a light to turn on. But his foot had knocked against the coffee table and for a brief second his mind had told him he'd just tripped over the body of Morris Pearson. He had jumped backward trying to get away and knocked into an end table, sending the lamp on it crashing to the floor. He had cursed and stumbled around until he had finally found his way into the kitchen and was able to turn the light on there.

He had stood there, his heart racing as he looked around the room and realized where he was. He had sat at the kitchen table where a note from Warrick lay telling him to help himself to whatever he could find to eat and that he would give him a call later. But Nick hadn't had anything to eat. And two hours later when the phone rang, he hadn't moved from the kitchen table.

"Nick? You there?"

"Huh? Yeah…yeah…sorry." Nick shook his head to try to clear the cobwebs. "What'd you say?"

"I asked if you were up, but I guess that answers my question." Warrick laughed a little, but in truth he was worried about Nick's condition.

"Yeah…I'm up…been up for awhile. What time is it?"

"Almost midnight. How you doin'?"

"I'm okay," Nick answered. "Got some sleep…took a shower."

"You eat anything?" Warrick asked.

Nick considered lying about it but answered truthfully, "Nah," and then not so truthfully, "I'm not hungry." In reality, his stomach had been growling considerably ever since he woke up, but nothing sounded good enough to risk getting sick as he still felt nauseous.

"Are you sure? Want me to bring you something?"

"I'm not an invalid, Warrick," Nick responded, sounding annoyed but feeling embarrassed. "If I want something I can go out and get it myself."

"Yeah, well…there's nowhere close around there to go, so…what you got in mind?"

Nick had to bite back the sarcastic and angry response he wanted to give. His friend was doing his best to help him, but it was making him feel helpless. And scrutinized. He didn't want to be the focus of anyone's attention. He'd had enough of that. So instead of the retort he had in his mind, he replied calmly, "Look, man…I appreciate it. I really do. But I'm fine, okay?"

"I know you are."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Warrick agreed.

"If I want something, I'll just drive over to the parkway," Nick insisted.

"Yeah…okay…I just thought it might be easier if I came over and brought you something."

Nick rolled his eyes and asked, "How the hell is that easier?"

"'Cause you don't have a car, man."

"Huh?"

"You don't have a car," Warrick said again. "It's still down at the lab."

_Shit_. Nick sighed. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

"It's okay…a lot going on the past couple of days," Warrick tried to reassure him.

Nick's feelings of embarrassment now included how he'd jumped to conclusions about the way his friend was treating him, and it made him feel even worse…even more like nothing was going right. Besides that he truly was helpless…stuck here in this house and dependant on others for everything. He felt the emotion building up inside of him and fought back the tears that were welling up in his eyes. He took a deep breath and tried to sound okay as he spoke, "Anyway, thanks…but I really don't need anything. I'll see you in the morning, huh?"

Warrick had meant to come by the house on his break, bringing Nick something to eat or whatever else he needed and also talk to him about the case. But now he was having second thoughts. Nick sounded on edge and not in the mood for company…definitely not the right time to bring up Crane or the investigation at Nick's house. So he would wait until morning. "Sounds good, man. See you then."

* * *

**So sorry for the delay in publishing this chapter. I had it half done a week ago and something happened and poof...it disappeared. All of it. Gone. I was just sick over it. But I managed to start over and now it's finished and here it is. I hope you enjoy it. :-) Thanks for reading, and please drop a review if you feel like it. I really appreciate the feedback! Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

_Warrick had meant to come by the house on his break, bringing Nick something to eat or whatever else he needed and also talk to him about the case. But now he was having second thoughts. Nick sounded on edge and not in the mood for company…definitely not the right time to bring up Crane or the investigation at Nick's house. So he would wait until morning. "Sounds good, man. See you then."_

* * *

More than anything, Nick wanted to feel normal. He had been the victim of a crime, but he didn't know the depth of it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. At least not personally. Professionally...now that was a different matter. The investigator in him would not keep still, and long after his phone conversation with Warrick he had stayed at the kitchen table thinking about things. He had so many unanswered questions. Although he was prohibited from actively participating in the investigation, he felt he had a right to know exactly what had happened to him.

He looked at the clock over the refrigerator and saw that it was now nearly 1:30 in the morning. There was no use mulling it over anymore tonight. Warrick would be getting off his shift at 8:00, and Nick would try to get some answers from him then. He stood up and yawned before heading to the living room to lie down on the sofa. He shouldn't be so tired, he thought, considering the good night's sleep he'd had and then the extra nap earlier in the evening. He couldn't blame the medicine. He had yet to take any today, but his body was questioning that decision more and more as the hours went by. He chalked his exhaustion up to the stress of the previous day's events and his concussion and closed his eyes.

Something woke him up. He was startled to attention immediately, lifting his head from the sofa cushion and was on alert...listening. His heart was pounding hard and fast, and he cursed himself for not thinking to keep a gun with him here. Silence filled the dark room now, but he could sense that the sound had come from behind him and to the right...near the front door. He turned his head a little toward that direction and suddenly could hear scratching noises coming from the wall. He glanced upward at the ceiling. _Damn it_, gun or not, he wasn't going to just lay here hiding on the sofa. He sat up slowly and looked around the room. _Maybe I'm hearing things._ Dim, early morning light was trying to come through the blinds, but the house was still too dark for him to see much.

_Dark?_

Suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe. His mouth went dry and it felt like the bottom of his stomach had dropped out. It was dark in the house, but he knew...he _knew_ he had left the kitchen light on before he had lain down on the couch. _Maybe it burned out_, he thought, desperately grasping at straws. But he knew better. He had thought the sounds came from the front of the house, but now he turned his attention to the kitchen. He stood up and crept silently and cautiously toward the entrance. When he reached it, he stood off to the side against the wall and then leaned gradually forward to look inside the room.

_Thump! _

He jerked his head around. That sound had definitely come from the front of the house and he had not imagined it. Breathing hard, his heart beating furiously, he tried to collect himself. He tried to see as best he could through the dark living room, but nothing seemed out of place. And then something moved. He swallowed hard at the sight of a shadow sliding low past the window outside. Somewhat relieved that whatever...or whomever...it was was not inside the house, he quietly made his way over to the front door and looked out the peephole. He could see nothing but a few cars parked on the street. His shaking hand unlocked the door and he slowly opened it about an inch. Nothing. He opened it a little wider...wide enough to stick his head out a little. One of the cars in front of the house appeared to be idling, its parking lights on. Nick's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he tried to see if there was anyone in it. It looked like someone was in the driver's seat, but he couldn't be sure. That is, until suddenly the passenger side window rolled down and the driver called out.

"Hey! Hurry up! It's getting late!"

_What the hell? _Before he had time to process who that might be and what it could mean, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and involuntarily jumped backward as he saw a figure run from the left side of the yard and down the sidewalk to the car. Instinct caused him to nearly run after the person, but he held back and quickly realized it was a young person...a boy of about 12.

The kid called out as he neared the car. "Okay! Okay! I'm coming! Geez!" He opened the door to get in. "I told you I couldn't throw it that far!" He slammed the door shut and the car pulled up the block.

Nick looked down at the step outside the front door and saw the morning paper there, folded with a rubber band around it so it could be tossed easier. And of course, when tossed, it would make a _thump_ sound as it hit the side of the house or the door. In the wake of his earlier moments of fear he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him and was glad no one had been around to see him acting so frightened and paranoid. But he had to admit that in addition to feeling silly he also felt a sense of relief. He took a step outside and bent over to pick up the newspaper. He came back inside the house and closed the door, locking it behind him as he flipped the rubber band off of the paper and unfolded it.

With morning coming on, it was getting lighter now inside the room and he knew he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep after this. So he walked toward the kitchen with his head down, scanning the headlines on the front page of the paper.

"Anything interesting?"

"_Jesus_ fucking Christ!" Nick jumped backward and nearly tripped over the sofa behind him. "What the _hell_?"

Warrick stood a few feet away, eyes wide, almost as surprised as Nick had been when he'd spoken to him. "Sorry man...didn't mean to scare you."

"Didn't mean to...what the _hell_?"

"I said I'm sorry! I thought you saw me there," Warrick tried to explain as he turned on the light.

Nick threw the newspaper down hard on the coffee table, breathing fast, his heart pounding again nearly as badly as before. "_No _I didn't _see_ you! Why the...what are you doing here?"

"I got off early 'cause I went in for that court date this afternoon."

"You should have told me. You should have told me you were coming home early…when you...when we talked before." Nick was still trying to recover from the shock. "How long have you been here?"

"Couple of hours."

"Did you turn off the kitchen light?" Nick asked with a tone that was more accusatory than inquisitive.

"Yeah." Warrick didn't seem to understand what the big deal was. "I came in...you were asleep on the couch and I didn't want to wake you, so I grabbed something to eat and went to the bedroom to get a little sleep."

Nick shook his head and eased himself down onto the sofa. "Jesus, Warrick."

Warrick looked at him for a moment, still confused, and then the implication of what he had done hit him. "Aw hell." He ran a hand over his face and sighed, then sat down in an easy chair across from the couch. "I'm sorry, man," he said again, this time with more sincerity now that he fully understood what had happened. "I wasn't thinkin'."

Nick sat back, took a deep breath, and let it out. "It's okay."

"No...it's not."

"Yeah it is," Nick insisted, embarrassed. "I just...I got a little freaked out, I guess. Somethin' woke me up...I was sure I'd left the light on, but...then there were noises out front, and..." His voice trailed away and he looked down at his lap where the fingers of his left hand played with the velcro of the splint on his right. "I'm an idiot."

"C'mon, man…it's normal, especially after what happened. Plus you're in a strange house, your head's all messed up from the drugs and getting knocked around…of course you're a little jumpy. Who wouldn't be?"

"What the hell is wrong with me, Warrick?"

"I just told you. Nothing!"

"Really? So if you're sleeping and somebody comes walking through the room, opening doors and cabinets, turning lights on and off…you wouldn't notice? You wouldn't wake up?" Nick asked.

"Not if I was doped up," Warrick answered.

Nick huffed. "Yeah…that's just it. I _wasn't_ doped up. I haven't had any of those pills today."

"Well…still…you've been through a lot. I'm sure you were sleeping hard."

"Nope." Nick shook his head. "I slept most of the day. I wasn't even tired when I laid back down…just bored. And I was sure sleepin' light enough that a damn paperboy _outside_ woke me up. But not light enough to notice someone creeping around the room? Figures that Crane guy could do what he did in my house and I didn't even notice."

Warrick watched his friend as he spoke. Nick looked positively miserable. "C'mon, Nick…it could happen to anybody."

"It's not supposed to happen to _me_, Warrick. I'm a CSI for Christ's sake. It's my _job_ to notice things. And I got some guy…in there…watching me…takin' stuff…in my own _house_? Without me knowing it? What the hell kind of CSI is that?"

"Look, we don't even know how long he was there or…what he did. And you're hardly home anyway what with work and everything."

"Doesn't matter. If someone's been in my house…whether I'm there or not…I should _know_ it. I should be able to tell."

"Okay, listen…" Warrick knew he couldn't tell him too much about the investigation, but they were about to release the scene at Nick's house anyway. "You couldn't have known because there wasn't really anything there. So far Grissom and Catherine said they couldn't find any signs that he'd done much there."

"Except murder someone in my living room," Nick countered sarcastically.

"I mean…nothing you could see ahead of time. Nothing like…at the girl's house. They didn't find any of that at your place."

It took Nick a moment to process what Warrick had just said. If there was no evidence at his house of Crane stalking him, then what did they think happened? "Wait a minute. So what do you think he was doing there? Huh? You think I invited him over? You think I hang out with him and then he murdered somebody so I'm _lying_ about it?"

"Of course not." Warrick cringed a little, remembering questioning Grissom this way earlier himself. "We think…he just didn't have time yet to do all that stuff. He was probably going to, but when he realized we were on to him…and when that psychic guy showed up…things just got out of hand."

"Well if he didn't have any of those peepholes or anything, how did he…" Suddenly Nick felt like he couldn't breathe. His eyes grew wide and he looked at his friend. "Was he in there? Was he _in_ my fuckin' house with me while I was asleep?"

"I don't know, man, but don't freak out. We don't know what happened."

"Don't freak out? You just said he didn't have any holes in the ceiling but he said he watched me sleep, so he must have been in there with me!"

"Maybe he looked through the window." Warrick knew that wasn't much better, but he just wanted to calm Nick down some.

Nick shook his head vigorously. "No…no. He said…he heard me say something…in my sleep."

"He's just screwin' with you, man."

"No. He's right. I remember that night. After I told you about the email with the prom pictures? I musta been thinking about her…Melissa. I…I had a dream about her, and I was talking to her, and…" He looked at Warrick. "I said her name. I was talking to her in the dream, and I said her name as I woke up. He told me that. He told me I said her name in my sleep. He must have been _right_ _there_."

"Listen…"

But Nick continued on. "He knew where I kept my gun…my takeout menus. He…he…how did he know the cops were coming? He said he _heard_ that. Where the fuck was he, Warrick? While I was on the phone? He was in the house somewhere listening to me! Even Grissom said it. 'He's been in your house.' That's what he said…he's been in your _house_!"

"Look, Nick…it's okay now. It's over. Whatever happened…we'll figure it out. But everything's okay now."

Nick shot him a look.

"Okay, maybe not yet…but everything's going to be okay."

Nick set his jaw and nodded. "Uh huh…sure. So uh…notice anything different in here?"

Confused, Warrick looked around the room. "Um…the lamp's missing off that table."

Nick laughed humorlessly and rolled his eyes. "Of course. See? Right away…something's different in here and you figure it out."

"C'mon, Nick…"

"I broke it. It was an accident. I'm sorry. I just…I had been sleeping here, and I woke up and it was dark, and I wasn't sure where I was, and…I got up and tripped on the coffee table, and I thought…it felt like…I thought it was a body…Pearson…"

"Nick…"

"And I jumped back…stumbled back and into the table…knocked the lamp off. I'm sorry. It was busted, so I went ahead and threw it out."

Warrick knew this wasn't just about Nick breaking a cheap lamp. It was about making him understand that it wasn't over. Things were _not_ okay. _Nick_ was not okay. "Don't worry about it." When Nick didn't acknowledge him, he added with a grin, "I'll just take one of yours next time I'm over."

The tension broken, Nick couldn't help but laugh, this time for real. But then he grew somber again. "Yeah…if they ever let me back in there."

"Wanna go now?"

"What?" Nick looked at him, surprised.

"The scene's still not been released," Warrick explained. "But…well, like I said, they didn't find a lot. And we thought…maybe you wanna take a look and see if you can see something we missed. If there's something out of place or something missing or that wasn't there before…we wouldn't know it. But you would."

Nick thought about it a moment and then nodded. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Yeah…let's do it."

"You sure you're up to it?"

"Yeah, I am."

"You know you still can't take anything from there, right?" Warrick cautioned.

"I know. Give me a minute to change clothes and let's go."

A few minutes later and both men were ready to go. They went out the front door, Warrick locking it behind him and then turning to watch Nick's reaction to what he was seeing. "You wanna drive?" He grinned.

"Hey!" Nick exclaimed as he saw his SUV sitting next to Warrick's in the driveway. "How'd you get my car here?"

Warrick held out Nick's keys for him. "Picked these up at your place."

"Thanks, man." Nick had a brief thought about Crane making copies of the keys and quickly pushed it to the back of his mind. "How'd you get it over here though?"

"Sara drove it and I followed…then I took her home and came back."

"You did all that overnight? You didn't have to do that, man."

"Yeah I did," Warrick answered good-naturedly. "I don't have time to haul your ass all over the place."

"Thanks, Warrick," Nick said sincerely, thankful to get a little bit of his freedom back.

"No problem."

Nick asked skeptically, "You serious about me driving?"

"Hell no!" Warrick laughed. "For one thing, medicine or not, the doc said you aren't supposed to work or drive or anything for a week. We shouldn't even be doing this. Besides that, I ain't trustin' my life to you tryin' to drive with that." He pointed at Nick's right arm.

Nick held his arm up and turned it over, looking it up and down. "Yeah…pretty nasty, huh?" He sighed. "Okay…you win."

"As usual," Warrick smirked as they got into his car. He started it up and backed down the driveway. Neither of them said anything as they drove for the first mile or so, but suddenly Nick spoke up.

"You let _Sara_ drive my car?"

"Um…"

"Don't 'um' me. You know she's the worst driver at the lab! You let _Sara_ drive my car?"

"Okay, okay." Warrick gave a laugh. "So I owe you one."

"As usual," Nick snickered and gave him a sideways glance and then turned to look out the window.

* * *

**Thanks again to those of you who are reading and reviewing! Readership seems to be down as the story goes on. Not sure what's up with that, but I'm glad there are a few of you who seem to be hanging in there. Please drop a review and let me know what you think. Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

Clark County District Attorney Scott Cavenaugh stood up and leaned across his desk to shake hands with the two men who had just entered his office. "Jim...Gil...good to see you again." Brass and Grissom greeted him as well and took seats in the chairs at the front of the desk as the D.A. sat back down. "Well, we might as well get right to it." He opened a case file folder and shuffled through a few of the papers before finding the one he wanted. He looked the paper up and down a few times and then made a note on it before looking up at the men. "I'm going to go ahead and file charges on Mr. Crane for the two murders. I think the evidence that you've presented to me along with CSI Stokes' testimony from the night of the second murder will be enough for a conviction, especially with the video tapes from Crane's house."

Grissom and Brass looked at each other briefly before the captain leaned forward in his chair and asked, "First degree murder? Isn't the defense planning to claim insanity? Or at least diminished capacity?"

"I don't know what they _want_ to do, but those options are off the table now. He passed the psych evaluation."

"What?" the other two men chimed in unison.

"He passed it," said the D.A. matter of factly. "Not like it would have mattered anyway. He wants a trial."

Now Grissom's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "He _wants_ a trial? Scott, I saw that guy in the interrogation room. I watched those video tapes. It's a classic case of a psychotic delusional disorder. The fact that he wants a trial says it all. He's not capable of making good decisions for himself."

"The evaluation says he is. Look, guys...I don't want to do this any more than you do. It's not going to look good when the press gets wind of this and starts playing up the angle of Clark County putting mentally ill people in prison. But I have no choice. I could get a second evaluation done, but usually that's procedure when someone _doesn't_ pass...to keep them from getting off on an insanity plea when they're actually capable of being tried. Now which one of you wants to talk to the victims' families and tell them we're getting a second opinion to _keep_ this guy from going to prison for murdering their loved ones?" Cavenaugh leaned back in his chair and waited for a response.

"No matter what he's done," said Grissom, "if he's mentally ill then he doesn't belong in prison."

There was silence in the room as Cavenaugh considered this, then leaned forward and asked pointedly, "Grissom...is there a chance this guy is playing you all?"

"Oh, come on!" Brass exclaimed. "I tried to interview him the night he was brought in. All he did was babble. If he wanted us to think he was crazy, he would have kept it up and failed the evaluation."

The D.A. shook his head. "It's darn near impossible to fool it to think you're unfit. And if you _are_ unfit..." He stood up and closed the file. "...you can't fool it to think you're not. We're going to trial, gentlemen."

* * *

The drive to Nick's house had not taken very long, but by the time he and Warrick got there Nick's uplifted mood from before had worn off. It might have been fatigue, both mental and physical, catching up with him. Or it might have been the lack of pain medication taking its toll on his body. But most likely, Warrick worried, it was the thought of going back into the house for the first time after what had happened. Nick had grown quiet on the ride over, staring out the window, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

They pulled up to the curb and parked, and both men sat looking at the house. There were no officers present, but the crime scene tape still crossed the doorway to prevent unauthorized entrance. "You ready?" Warrick asked.

Nick looked at him. "Yeah. Let's go."

They both got out of the vehicle and approached the house. Warrick made his way to the door while Nick lagged behind, taking a long look at the place before ducking under the tape behind his friend. The scene had still not been released, but Warrick had clearance to go inside again, so he took out his pocketknife and sliced through the seal on the front door, then opened it. He went ahead in and waited for Nick to follow.

Nick was accustomed to the sight of crime scene tape surrounding places, but seeing it at his own house gave him a sick feeling. It was surreal...two familiar things…the tape and his home…but from two very different parts of his life, and here they were merged like something out of a nightmare. But it was real. The sound of Warrick cutting the seal on the door made it real. It brought him back to attention, and he saw the other man standing just inside the house looking at him expectantly. Nick entered the house and stood next to him looking around. His eyes were drawn immediately to the large hole in the living room ceiling. He then looked at the floor beneath it. There was no blood...nothing to indicate that a murder had occurred...that a body had lain there, but Nick didn't need physical evidence to remind him of where Morris Pearson had fallen dead. He walked over to the area and knelt down, looking at the floor.

_"Green tea! Green tea! Does that mean anything to you? Green tea?"  
_  
"Jesus," he uttered under his breath.

"What?" asked Warrick.

Nick spoke without looking up. "He said something about green tea...Pearson. I thought he meant tea...you know...like the drink. But..." He ran his hand along the carpet where the large Texas college "T" logo was displayed in a dark shade of green.

"Nick, you don't really think he saw the future, do you?"

"Doesn't matter now, I guess," Nick said softly. He looked up at Warrick, but as he did so he was suddenly overcome with a sense of déjà vu, kneeling in the middle of the floor as Nigel Crane stood over him, gun aimed at his head.

_"Manners, Nick! Manners!"_

He involuntarily flinched and instantly regretted it.

"Nick? You okay?"

"Yeah...yeah..." Nick hurried to his feet. Anything to get out of that vulnerable position. But being where everything had come to a head was no better even when he was standing, and he moved quickly out of the area and near the entrance to the kitchen. "So..." He cleared his throat. "What's the plan?"

Warrick eyed him carefully, wondering now if maybe this wasn't such a good idea. But at least if Nick had to come back into the house at some point, it was better to do it with him there to make sure he was okay. "Well...we've gotten everything out of here that we thought was relevant. So...see if you see anything we missed...something that we wouldn't notice because it's not our place, you know? Anything moved or missing...stuff like that."

"Yeah...okay...uh..." Nick looked around his immediate area and then walked into the kitchen. His eyes scanned the counter and the top of refrigerator. He turned to ask, "Do I need gloves?"

Warrick had brought his kit in just in case they did find something that needed to be collected or processed, but he answered, "Nope. We've got all the prints we're gonna get. Just...if we find something, let me handle it first."

Nick nodded and opened the door to the refrigerator. He looked the contents up and down, moved a few things, and then stood up and closed the door.

"See anything?"

"Nah." He moved to the cabinets, opening one after the other, and then a drawer or two.

As Nick stood shuffling some silverware around, staring at it intently, Warrick spoke again. "How about in there? Anything?"

Nick shook his head and then closed the drawer and looked up. "You know what?"

"What?"

"Honestly...I can't remember what's supposed to be here. I don't know what I had left in the 'fridge or how many spoons I had."

Warrick laughed a little. "Yeah...I wouldn't know in my house either. Don't worry about it. Just...maybe something will jump out at you. If not, it's cool."

Nick nodded and walked slowly back into the living room. He walked along the perimeter like he would any other crime scene, except there was no need here. This one had already been processed. Yet he stuck close to the wall. He made his way around, examining the framed photos and mementos and scanning the books on the shelves. He paused and looked at the vacant spot on the table where his laptop had once been. "I don't know, man." The frustration in his voice was evident. "I can't...I keep second guessing myself. I don't know if it's right or not."

"It's okay...don't worry about it. If it's not obvious then probably everything's where it should be."

"Yeah...probably," Nick said, not sounding quite so sure as he looked down at the chess set on the coffee table. He sighed. "So where next?"

"Wherever you want."

Nick looked down the short hallway and at the three doors along it that led to his bedroom, the spare bedroom, and the bathroom. "So...you think he came down from...like at Jane's? Using the access in the spare bedroom closet?"

Warrick nodded. "Probably. We lifted prints there...still waiting on results."

"I hardly ever go in there. It's probably got dust everywhere...would be easy to tell if..." He leaned forward into the hallway a little and looked up at the ceiling. "So let's do the other rooms first."

* * *

"How's it going, Archie?" Catherine walked up behind the audiovisual technician as he sat in the dimmed lab in front of a video screen, headphones on. When he didn't respond, she put a hand on his shoulder.

Archie jumped and whipped his head around to face her, scrambling to get the headphones off. "Catherine! Geeze...sorry...you scared me."

"Sorry," she said as she looked at the screen to see what he was watching and asked with trepidation, "Are you sure it was me that scared you?"

He laughed and turned back to the screen as well, looking at the frozen image of Nigel Crane's face, upside down, teeth bared. "He's somethin' all right, isn't he?"

"What's he saying?"

"Well, let's see." Archie looked at his computer screen where he was transcribing the video. "He thinks diseases are good because they thin the..." He leaned in closer to see the words better. "Human herd."

"Great. What else?" Catherine asked.

"Um...oh yeah...you'll like this...'Demoralize the enemy from within by surprise, terror, sabotage, assassination.'"

Her mouth dropped open. "Archie, that's..."

"Hitler. I know."

"Damn." She shook her head quickly, trying to shake the thought away like she would try to shake off something crawling on her. "How far along are you?"

"This is still an early one...prior to anything about Jane Galloway. But..." He swiveled in his chair and looked through the tapes on the desk before seeing the one he wanted and holding it up. "I skipped ahead and looked at the footage between the time of her murder and the time he started talking about Nick. That's this one here."

"Is there anything probative on there?"

"You know...it's weird," he said. "Each of these tapes is two hours long. And if it's not surveillance footage, he records himself for about 40 minutes at a time over a couple of days. So that means this one covers the two days right after Jane's murder, but...he doesn't mention her at all. And he doesn't act any differently than he did on any of the other tapes. It's like it didn't affect him at all."

"Or it's like it never happened," Catherine said with a sigh. "Damn it...I was hoping he'd say something on there to implicate himself."

"Well, he still might," Archie said. "There are a lot of tapes left to go through. I'll see what I can find."

"Thanks, Archie," she said with a smile.

* * *

Nick and Warrick made quick work of Nick's bedroom and the bathroom. Nothing had seemed out of place, although Nick still wasn't confident of his judgment. He also wasn't sure whether or not he _wanted_to find anything. He didn't want to know for sure that Crane had been in his house watching him without him knowing it, but at the same time he wanted some confirmation that he wasn't crazy...that he hadn't made up or imagined the things Crane had said the night of the murder. "Doesn't seem like we're having much luck, does it?" he said sullenly as he opened the door to the spare bedroom.

"Depends on whether or not we want to find anything," answered Warrick.

Nick glanced at him and wondered how he knew what he had been thinking. Maybe he knew because of the way Nick was acting as they made their way throughout the house, hesitant yet committed. Or maybe it was because Warrick was feeling the same way. Either way, it was comforting to have someone else on the same wavelength as he went through this process.

He entered the room and stood looking around as Warrick came in as well. There was a futon opened up and made with bed linens, a maroon blanket covering it. A small table with a lamp was next to it, and a comfortable looking chair occupied one corner. Nick shrugged. "I never really have company, so I didn't figure I needed much in here. My brother stayed over for a few nights once though. Gave me hell for how hard that bed was on his back." Remembering it, he laughed a little. Then he quickly sobered up as he looked at the closet door. "So, uh..." He swallowed hard but tried to sound indifferent. "He came down from in there, huh?"

"We're pretty sure. Prints will confirm it, but yeah...the window up there was open a little."

"I never left that open. I've been up there a few times to air it out, but I didn't leave it open," Nick insisted.

"I know. I don't think you did. I think he did when he was installing the cable...so...you know...he could get back in."

"Oh. Yeah." Nick gave a small smile, trying to brush it off. "Sorry. Wasn't thinkin' right." He knew that's what had happened. But why was it the second thought to occur to him instead of the first?

"It's okay, man," Warrick reassured him. "It's hard to think like a CSI in your own place, you know?"

"I guess," Nick reluctantly agreed. "Okay..." He took a deep breath and let it out before reaching for the door to the closet and pulling it open. As if to add to the atmosphere, the door creaked slightly as it opened. There were no clothes hanging in there...just a box of Christmas decorations on the floor. He looked up. On the shelf were an extra bed pillow and two folded up blankets. Just above that was the access panel to the attic. He turned to look at Warrick. "They printed it, huh?"

"Yeah." He waited, leaving it up to Nick to do this however he wanted to do it.

"And they went up there? There wasn't anything up there?"

"Nothing up there at all," answered Warrick. "Is there supposed to be?"

Nick shook his head. "No...so...that's good then. Right?" His eyes roamed the closet one more time. Nothing out of the ordinary. They'd searched the whole house, and there was nothing to indicate that Crane had been in here doing anything without Nick knowing it. Whatever he _did_ do...Nick would sort it out later, but for right now he had to admit that finding no evidence of the man in his house was a great relief to him.

And then he saw it.

* * *

**I want to thank JacquiT for being a sounding board again for this chapter, and YOU can thank her for the evil cliffhanger because she voted for i****t! :-) Thanks for waiting a little longer for this chapter. Real life gets in the way sometimes. Once again thanks so much to everyone who reads and I really extra appreciate those who leave a little comment. It means a lot. Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6

_They'd searched the whole house, and there was nothing to indicate that Crane had been in here doing anything without Nick knowing it. Whatever he did do...Nick would sort it out later, but for right now he had to admit that finding no evidence of the man in his house was a great relief to him._

_And then he saw it._

He wasn't sure at first. But something in his gut told him it wasn't right. After concluding that nothing in the house was amiss, Nick had started to turn to leave the closet, but something caught his eye. The box of Christmas ornaments on the floor had the flaps closed, but sticking out from between them was about an inch of light blue plastic. He recognized it immediately, but his brain still told him there was probably some logical explanation. That is, until he crouched down next to the box and opened it.

Warrick watched him, puzzled. "What is it?"

As he folded back the flaps on the box, Nick saw what he had expected to see. But there was more. The bit of blue plastic revealed itself to be the handle of a toothbrush as he had thought, but he hadn't counted on seeing the plastic stadium cup with the WLVU logo on the side. The cup contained the toothbrush and numerous other small items. He suddenly felt nauseous and a shiver ran through him, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. He swallowed hard and scooted back away from the box. "You..." His voice was barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again as he looked up at Warrick. "You better get that."

Warrick leaned forward a little to look over Nick's shoulder and into the box. It didn't look like much to him, but it had apparently rattled Nick. "Let me go get my kit from the other room," he said. A moment later he was back in the room and donning latex gloves as he first photographed the box in the closet and then its contents while Nick looked on as he sat on the edge of the futon. Warrick then removed the cup from the box and carefully laid each item out onto the floor next to it. He photographed each piece individually and halfway through as he held the camera to his face he asked without turning around, "You want to tell me what I'm looking at?"

"I don't know. I...I didn't see everything."

"Overall, man, I mean. I kinda gather these are your things and you don't normally keep them in a cup in the closet with your Christmas stuff. Am I right?"

Nick nodded numbly.

"Okay...well..." Warrick finished his photographs and put the camera down. "Come on over and see everything before I bag and tag 'em." He put his camera away and pulled the other items he needed from his kit, watching Nick out of the corner of his eye.

Nick got up and came over to kneel on the floor next to Warrick and his eyes scanned the items. There was nothing truly frightening there. There were no severed fingers or locks of hair or photos of him...nothing that screamed "creepy stalker" like in the movies. But this wasn't a movie. It was real life. And the ordinary things he was looking at scared him more than any grotesque item would. He quietly started to go over the stuff for Warrick. "Okay...well...the cup...I had that in the kitchen cabinet with the glasses...got it at a game last year. It's just...it's nothing special. Hell, it was way in the back. I don't even use it."

Warrick took notes on a pad while Nick waited. "You can keep going," he told Nick. "I'll make notes on everything and then bag it after, 'kay?"

"Sure. So uh...the uh...toothbrush. I threw that away after my last visit to the dentist. You know how they always give you a new one when you get your teeth cleaned? It was...um...I don't remember when. About a month ago maybe?"

"March 7th? 2:30?"

Nick's head whipped up to look at him, mouth open. "How do you know that?" he demanded, his heart suddenly in his throat.

"It's right here." Warrick reached for one of the items on the floor and held it up. It was a dental appointment reminder card with the time and date written on it.

Nick let out a sigh and then clenched his jaw as he looked at the card and said evenly. "You know...that's the second time today you've scared the shit out of me, man. I got enough people spyin' on me and knowin' my business without you doin' it too."

"I'm sorry, man...I didn't mean to scare you."

"Yeah, you never do. Nobody ever does. Nobody ever _means_ to do it," Nick answered irritably, breathing hard, his hands shaking. "You scared the shit out of me," he said again.

"I know. You're right. I'm sorry." Warrick tried to calm him down. "I just wasn't thinkin'. I'll pay more attention, okay?" He looked at Nick expectantly. "Okay? I'm sorry."

Nick narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you..."  
_  
"Are you humoring me, Nick?"_

Nick shook his head quickly as Crane's voice overlapped his thoughts. Of course Warrick wasn't humoring him. But...it sounded like it. The way he said it...his tone of voice...the way he was looking at him like he was crazy. _ Why shouldn't he? I __sound __crazy. _He tried to calm himself down before he spoke again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump on you. I'm just a little..." He didn't want to say it, but he said it anyway. "Paranoid."

"No. You're not paranoid, man. This is real. You've got good reasons to feel this way. It would freak me out too."

"Really?" When his friend assured him again, he said, "I guess you're right."

"As usual," Warrick snorted, giving him a grin, trying to break the tension and put his friend a little more at ease.

"Yeah, right," Nick said with a small laugh that still sounded nervous.

"You ready to tell me about the other things?" Warrick silently promised himself that he would keep quiet from now on and just let Nick do this at his own pace.

"Yeah...okay." Nick looked back down at the items. "Well...you got the appointment card there. I don't know where it was...probably on the table by the phone or something. Then there's that bottle opener. It was in the kitchen drawer with a bunch of other stuff. I've got two or three different ones, so..." He sighed. "Anyway, um...obviously there's a poker chip. I have a set in the cabinet in the living room. I can check, but I guess that's where it came from."

"We can look later."

"Okay." Nick sighed as he looked at an open pack of gum next. "I don't know. That's the kind I buy, but there's probably open packs all over the place. Hard to tell where it came from. But...I'm sure it's mine."

"What's this receipt for?" Warrick held it up so Nick could see it better.

"Um..." He squinted to read it. "Looks like...couple of weeks ago...groceries."

"Where was it? Did you throw it out?"

Nick shook his head. "No...I save the bags, you know? I just crumple 'em up and toss them into a drawer in the kitchen...the receipts are still in there when I do. So he must have gotten in there and pulled one out." He wrinkled his face, confused. "What the hell, man? Why does he want all this junk? He's just goin' around pickin' up weird things and stashin' 'em here like a rat. Why?"

"He's crazy, man. Don't worry about tryin' to figure it out."

"Well, it's making _me_ crazy."

"Don't let it, Nick. C'mon, man...I know…this is fucked up, but you're better than this. You're better than _him_. Don't let him do this to you."

Nick looked away from him and said softly, "It's just hard to wrap my head around it, that's all." He looked back at Warrick. "It's my job to figure things out. I just can't...I can't figure this out," he finished dejectedly.

"You don't have to." Warrick looked him in the eye as he spoke seriously. "We're all gonna help you figure this out. And this guy's gonna get put away and we'll get everything settled and you can put it behind you. Okay?"

"Yeah," Nick answered, barely audible.

Warrick knew there was nothing more he could say right now that would make his friend feel better, so he got back to the job at hand but tried to lighten the mood a little. "Hey, this is pretty cool." He picked up a square red, white, and blue magnet. "What is it?"

Nick looked up to see what he was talking about. "Are you kidding me?" When he got a blank stare in return, he rolled his eyes and said, "State flag of Texas, man."

"Huh." Warrick turned it over and looked at it again. "Thought it was France or somethin'."

"France my ass." Nick gave him an annoyed look and then grew more somber. "Shit...I didn't even notice. It came off the kitchen fridge. That son of a bitch...my mom gave me that when I moved up here." Now he sounded angry.

"Okay...okay. C'mon, we're almost done." Warrick wrote down some notes. "What about that?" He pointed to a movie ticket stub.

Nick leaned over to get a better look. "Jesus."

"What?"

"That was just a few _days_ ago. I went to see 'Panic Room'." He saw Warrick raise his eyebrows. "Yeah, yeah...I know...ironic." He sat back, looking paler than he had a moment ago, his eyes distant as he considered this latest bit of evidence. "That was in my wallet," he said quietly.

"Are you sure?" Warrick asked.

"Yes, I'm sure! He got in my wallet, Warrick. My _wallet_! When did he do that?" Warrick was looking at him again with what Nick perceived as a wary eye. He started to add something about not being crazy but stopped himself. He knew better than that. He knew Warrick was just trying to get the facts down right. "I'm sure," he said again more calmly. "It was just the other day. I always put the stub in my wallet after I pay and then...well...it usually stays there for a few months until I see it again and toss it." He reached for his pants pocket and then stopped. "Damn it...I left my wallet at your place." When Warrick just looked at him silently he added sarcastically, "You want to go get it and check?"

Warrick shook his head. "No, man. I believe you. Who'd you go with?"

"Nobody. Cable was out so I..." The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying, and he immediately felt like he was going to get sick. He tried to brush it off, hoping Warrick didn't notice. "It...uh...I'd had the new service for awhile...it stormed that day...figured...that's all it was. So I went out and caught a movie."

"By yourself."

"Yes! That's what I said!"

Warrick sighed. He really did not want to do this, but he reached for the ticket stub and picked it up, then pushed it between his fingers revealing a second one. "Then how come there are two stubs?"

Suddenly it was as though all of the air had been sucked out of the room. Nick felt like he couldn't breathe. "Wha...it...it must be...no..." He shook his head. "I probably had a couple of old ones in there."

"It's the same movie, Nick."

"I..." He shook his head, his voice coming now in shaky breaths, speaking as though he hadn't heard what his friend had just said. "I think I had a couple in there...from the week before."

"Same night."

"Because..." Nick continued, looking down at his hands as they fidgeted in his lap. "You know...because...sometimes I don't clean out my wallet, you know, so..."

"Same showing...same theater...purchased 3 minutes after yours."

Nick stopped speaking but shook his head again as he continued to look at his hands. He didn't want to think about this. He didn't want to believe this. His feelings were running the gamut...fear, anger, confusion, disgust...and helplessness. This was supposed to be over. The guy had been caught...arrested...and it was supposed to be over. But now it seemed far from that, and in fact it was growing bigger by the minute as the realization of the full scope of what Crane had been doing was starting to sink in. It wasn't just a collection of odd items the man had stolen and stashed away. And he hadn't just been in his house watching him. He had followed him outside of the house. And for how long? To how many places had Nick gone and not realized he was being followed and watched? And..."Why?"

Nick's voice startled Warrick as he had been letting him quietly process this until he was ready to talk about it. "Why? I don't know, man. I'm sorry."

"Grissom said he wanted to _be_ me." He looked up. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know. Look, Nick, I told you...the guy's a nut, okay? Sometimes there's no reason. Crazy is just crazy."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? That instead of having some kind of fucked up plan he was just a random nut case?"

"No." Warrick shook his head. "No, it's not supposed to make you feel better. But maybe you need to try to stop figuring it out and just let it be what it is."

"Like you'd do, right?" Nick snapped.

Warrick huffed and shook his head, a small smile on his face. "All right...fine. Look, let's just take it a step at a time then, okay? Everything will work out." When Nick shrugged in response, he said, "Okay...I need to get this stuff bagged and tagged, then we'll drop it off at the lab and you and me are gonna go get something to eat."

"I'm not hungry." Nick shook his head as he stood up.

"Well you slept all day yesterday, so I know you didn't eat, and you haven't had anything today either."

Nick just shrugged again in response.

"Well, _I'm_ hungry and I'm drivin' so we're going." Warrick turned to the evidence on the floor in front of him and went to work on it as Nick sat down with a sigh onto the futon.

An hour later Warrick parked his SUV in front of the Las Vegas Crime Lab and opened his door to get out. He turned to shut it and saw that Nick was still sitting in the passenger seat. "You comin'?"

"Nah...you're just dropping it off with the evidence clerk, right? Shouldn't take long. I'll wait here."

Warrick gave him a long look. He couldn't say he blamed him for not wanting to go in. As Nick had pointed out to him the night before, he had already been the unwanted focus of someone's attention, and if he went into the lab right now he was bound to be the focus of _everyone's_ attention. Though it would be well-meant from his friends and co-workers, it would still make him uncomfortable. "Okay. I'll be quick."

A few minutes later, after signing the newly gathered evidence over to the clerk, Warrick headed back down the hall to leave but was stopped by someone calling his name. He turned around and saw that it was Fingerprint Analyst Mandy Webster who was trying to gain his attention.

"Mandy," he greeted her as he walked back toward her. "What's up?"

"Have you seen Grissom or Catherine?" she asked.

"Naw…I'm not even on shift tonight. Just stopped by to drop off some new evidence in Nick's case."

She looked concerned. "How's he doing? A few of us called and sent him texts the other night checking on him but he didn't respond."

"He's doing okay. Still shook up, but…you know…he'll get through it."

"That's good," she smiled. "Well, tell him we're thinking about him."

"Sure. So uh…you were looking for Cath and Grissom?' he asked.

"Oh! Yeah. I've been trying to reach them…" She went back into the lab and picked up a print report. "I finally finished up with all of the prints they snagged at Nick's house…thought they'd want the results ASAP, you know? Since this one's kinda personal."

"What'd you find out?"

She sighed. "They gave me a _ton_ of prints. There were a few unknowns here and there." She laughed a little then as she added, "_You_ even turned up a couple of times, but the majority of them were Nick's."

"What about Crane?"

"Only where you'd expect to find prints from the cable guy. On the attic window and access panel…door knobs…furniture near the TV…that kind of thing."

"Nowhere weird? Like the bedroom or bathroom?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nope. That's good, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "That'll make Nick feel better. Thanks, Mandy. I'll tell Nick you were asking about him." He turned and headed back down the hallway toward the exit. Nick was going to be glad to know there weren't any freaky prints of Crane's anywhere there shouldn't be, he thought. But by the time he got back outside and into his vehicle he had second guessed himself into not mentioning the print results to Nick just yet. For one thing, it might make him feel again like they didn't believe him, and for another thing it was quite possible…and probable…that Crane had actually been in other areas of the house but wearing gloves. So for right now he decided no good could come of mentioning it to Nick.

"How'd it go?" Nick asked him.

"Good. It went good. You ready?"

Nick nodded, and Warrick pulled out of the parking spot and headed down the road.

* * *

**Thanks to all for waiting patiently after that nasty cliffhanger. :-) I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. Thanks again to JacquiT for being a sounding board for me and my wacky ideas! More to come soon.**


	7. Chapter 7

Nick had to admit, it did feel really good to get out of the house...both his _and _Warrick's. He and his friend had left the lab and gone to eat at a nearby burger place and were now sitting at a table outside with their food. For all his protesting about not being hungry, Nick seemed to be enjoying the large sized value meal he had ordered.

"Told ya you were hungry," Warrick mumbled through a mouthful of his own sandwich. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he swallowed. "You need to listen to me more often."

Nick gave him the finger as he drained the last of his drink from the cup, the straw making a loud sucking sound.

"What do you want to do tonight? Just hang out at my place?"

"That sounds good." Nick sat up straighter in his chair with a sigh and a slight grimace.

"You okay?"

"Yeah..." Nick put his left hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it. "Just tired."

Warrick looked at his friend's other hand, still covered with the splint. "How's that wrist doin'?"

"Hurts," Nick said simply. "Like everything else."

"Didn't take anything for it today, did you?"

Nick shook his head. He was glad when Warrick did not press the issue, so he said, "I'll use 'em when we get back...take the edge off."

That seemed to satisfy Warrick. But he had something else he needed to say. After leaving the lab, he had been reluctant to give Nick the new information he had received from Mandy about the print results. His friend still seemed in shock from all that they had discovered at his house earlier, and Warrick didn't want to pile anything else on top of it. But he was going to have to tell him eventually, and he knew Nick would appreciate him being upfront about it. "So, uh...I ran into Mandy while I was at the lab."

"Yeah?" Nick wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"Yeah. She asked about you...said a bunch of other people were wondering...hope you're doing okay."

"Shit...I forgot. I had some messages on my phone the other day."

Warrick waved him off. "It's cool. They know you've got a lot going on. So anyway, she had some print results from the house."

At that, Nick perked up. "And?" Warrick didn't look or sound very enthusiastic, so Nick didn't have his hopes up very high. His suspicion proved correct when Warrick continued speaking.

"The place was clean, man. His prints were found around where he'd be installing the cable, including the attic window where he went in and out and the panel in the closet, but nowhere else."

Nick gave him a hard stare. "Then he wiped the place," he said evenly. "Or he wore gloves. Like the ones he wore at Jane's. The ones I found at his apartment." _The ones that weren't there when Catherine and Grissom went back to look for them,_ he thought ruefully.

"He probably did," agreed Warrick. "Look, let's wait and see what she gets off the stuff I just gave her before we get too worked up over it, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah…sure," Nick said hesitantly as he stood up. "You ready?"

Warrick sighed, wishing he could have told Nick some better news instead. "Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

That evening the two men stayed up later than usual just talking about anything except the case and watching movies. Warrick had to work the next night so he wanted to stay up late enough so that he could sleep well into the next afternoon. And Nick…well, Nick was just plain tired of sleeping all of the time. He knew part of it was the concussion and part of it was the medication, but he still felt like he should be feeling better by now. When they were finally ready to retire for the night, Nick took the couch, insisting that Warrick use the bedroom to get some much needed rest before his shift.

Two days later Warrick came home from work in the morning to find Nick sitting on the couch flipping channels on the television, the same as he'd found him the previous couple of mornings. He shut the front door behind him and sighed. "Mornin'."

"Hey," Nick answered without looking up.

"How long you been up?" Warrick plopped himself down in the chair next to the couch.

"I dunno...couple hours?" He turned the TV off and threw the remote onto the coffee table.

"I'm sorry, man. I know you must be bored out of your skull here."

"Yeah." Nick yawned and stretched his arms over his head.

Warrick noticed something. "You're not wearin' the splint on your wrist. Feelin' better?"

Nick shrugged and looked at his arm. He would have thought it impossible, but somehow it looked even worse than it had a few days ago...still swollen and covered in a variety of colors and shades. "It's all right. I just got tired of that thing." It was quiet for a moment between the two of them before Nick spoke again. "I talked to Grissom last night."

"You did?" Warrick raised his eyebrows in surprise. "He didn't say anything to me."

"You aren't even working on this case anymore, are you?"

"No, but..." It was true. Since that fateful night at Nick's house there had already been two homicides, an arson, and numerous assaults added to the crime lab's work list. The CSIs had all moved on to other cases already. "Still...I figured he'd keep me posted on it. What'd he say?"

"He said I could go back home now."

Warrick let out a laugh before he even had time to think about it. "He what? Is he crazy or somethin'? He saw your place. Even if the scene's been released..."

"It has."

"Even then...you can't go back there while it's all messed up like that. Do you even _want_ to?"

"I got a guy...friend of mine..." Nick said, avoiding the question. "He does drywall and stuff...said he could get that hole patched up in a couple of hours. He's gonna come by later today and take a look."

"Come by? So you're going over there?"

Nick nodded. "I'm feeling better, and I've been here long enough."

"Nick..."

"I have to." Nick sat up straighter on the couch and shook his head. "That little psycho piece of shit cable guy is not keeping me out of my house."

"Nick...you don't have to prove anything to anybody. Nobody would blame you if you didn't feel comfortable there anymore."

"I'm not gonna know unless I try."

Warrick knew he wasn't going to be able to change his mind. It was Nick's decision to make, and he knew he had to let him make it and do this on his own, for better or for worse. He sighed. "All right, man. Whatever you wanna do. You know I got your back, right?"

Nick smiled and laughed a little. "Yeah. Thanks, man. For everything."

"No problem. So...what else did Grissom say?"

"Said he wanted to talk to me. In person." Nick grew a little more somber now.

"You goin' down there?"

"Yeah...tonight I guess...after I check out my house."

* * *

The light knock on the door frame drew Grissom's attention up from the paperwork he was reading, and he saw Catherine standing in the doorway.

"Got a minute?" she asked.

"Sure." He took off his reading glasses and motioned for her to take a seat across the desk. "Did Greg get anything off of the hair you collected for the Baxter case?"

"A couple of them had tags, but the DNA was compromised by the bleach. He's kicked them over to trace to see if we can get a fix on the product used on it."

"Good. Make sure they cross-reference it with the residue we got off of the seat cushion," he said, putting his glasses back on and turning back to his papers.

"I will. So...we got some more print results from Nick's case."

Grissom raised his eyes from the desk to look at her over his glasses. "I thought everything had already been processed. All clean. No prints."

"Well, yeah..." she said. "The stuff _we_brought in. But Warrick dropped some more stuff off the other day.

"Catherine, I thought we'd finished that investigation. The D.A. has already determined what charges he's going to file based on the evidence we've given him."

"It's nothing probative to the murders. It's related to the stalking. Warrick and Nick went back in there to have a look...more for Nick's piece of mind than anything."

"It's a good thing it's _not _related to the murders," Grissom said, obviously upset. "I hadn't even released the scene yet, Catherine...and Nick wasn't officially on duty...this could have compromised the whole case."

"Look, Gil...if you want to get mad over it, get mad at _me, _not them. I'm the one that told Warrick he could keep looking around...see if we missed anything."

"And Nick?"

"He's the only one who could tell if anything was out of place...not you, not me. I thought maybe if there was something else there...it might be something only Nick would notice."

Grissom sighed and took off his glasses again. "What did they find?"

"A stash of stuff in a box in the closet." Catherine was beginning to regret her decision to talk to him at all. First he had seemed annoyed that they had continued looking into the case without his knowledge, then angry, and now he seemed indifferent. "Stuff we missed," she added to emphasize her earlier argument about why Nick and Warrick should have been allowed in the house to look.

Now he appeared to be more interested as he raised his eyebrows at her statement. "Like what?"

"Random, weird stuff," she answered. "There was a cup with a bunch of Nick's stuff in it. An old toothbrush, grocery receipt, dental appointment card, bottle opener…stuff Nick probably wouldn't really have missed."

"Is he sure it's not just stuff he put away and forgot?"

"_Yes_, he's sure. And it's creepy as hell, Gil. There was even a ticket stub from when he went to a movie the other night…and a second stub. Crane followed him there and went to the same movie. That's just…" She visibly shuddered.

"You said you got some print results from this stuff?"

"Well…sort of. All of these things were clean too," she sighed. "…except for Nick's prints."

Grissom stared at her and waited for her to add something else, but she didn't. "That's it? Some more items with no prints on them?"

"Still…it shows Crane was definitely stalking Nick…more than just being there the night Pearson died, and more than just hacking into his computer."

"Catherine, there's no proof that Crane took that stuff and stashed it there. None."

Exasperated, she rolled her eyes at him. "You _know_ he did it."

"Knowing it and proving it are two different things. It's a good thing the D.A. isn't pressing charges on the stalking, because Crane would walk for sure." He put his glasses back on and leaned back in his chair. "What about the computer? Has Archie finished processing it yet? We need to get the information from that email with the photo…the one Crane used to pose Jane's body."

Catherine shook her head. "He's still working on the videos from Crane's house. He's going to do the computer next."

"Good. Anything else?"

"No." She stood up and headed for the door but stopped and turned to look at him. "But, Gil…"

He looked up at her. "Yes?"

"I heard you called Nick to come in later to talk to him."

"I did."

"Do me a favor. Try acting a little more concerned about this with him than you did with me. Okay?" She turned and left the room without waiting for an answer.

* * *

"That sucks, man. Sure you don't want to tell me how it happened?"

Nick looked on as his friend stared up at the hole in the ceiling and then back at the broken front door frame. Nick had been glad to see him waiting outside when he pulled up to the house, because it meant he wouldn't have to go inside by himself. "It's kind of personal, Andy. Sorry."

"No problem," the affable man answered, eyeing Nick's bruised arm as he did. "Well…" He looked up at the ceiling again. "I've got the stuff out in the truck…enough to patch that hole up. I'll have to come back a few more times to get the texture on it done though."

"That's fine. Thanks, man…I really appreciate it."

"Not sure I can get the door all the way done today, but I can nail some two-by-fours up there and put a deadbolt on for now. That ought to hold you 'til I can get the frame fixed."

Nick nodded and took a sideways glance at the door. He didn't want to appear overly concerned about it, but he knew he wasn't going to let his friend leave until he was satisfied that the door was sturdy enough and locked completely. "Yeah, that'll be good."

Nick sat down on the couch and talked to Andy as he worked, catching up on things that had happened in their lives since the last time they'd seen each other. Nick conveniently left out some of the things that had happened to him recently…the things that had been the reason for having to call his friend for help in the first place. But it was a good diversion from thinking about those things, and he actually felt good for the couple of hours it took Andy to finish patching up the ceiling and another half an hour to fix the door. But now he was packing up his things to leave.

"The ceiling's gonna need a while to dry completely, and I've got some other jobs I'm working on, so how about if I come back next Saturday and finish the texture? I can probably get the door done then too."

Nick followed him to the door. "Yeah, that'll work. Thanks again."

Andy grinned and shook his hand. "Anytime, man. Hey, maybe you'll go a little easier on me next time we play hoops."

"Dream on," Nick laughed. He stood in the open doorway and watched as Andy got into his truck and backed out of the driveway. Once the vehicle was out of sight, Nick stepped back into the house and closed the door, sliding the new deadbolt shut.

"_My name is Pearson…Morris Pearson!"_

He shook off the déjà vu feeling and walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. His eyes wandered upward, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the freshly repaired ceiling. It was still obvious that some work had been done, but at least the damn hole was gone. He looked at the floor next. Andy had been nice enough to clean up the mess there too. There was no trace left to signify that something awful had happened there. Except one.

Nick stood up from the couch and went to the middle of the room before getting down on one knee. Just as he had when he and Warrick were there, he ran his hand across the carpet, passing over the green hue of the large letter "T". He sighed and stood up again, moving to the edge of the carpet where he bent over and grasped the edge of it with both hands. Working quickly, he rolled the carpet up, moving swiftly across the floor until the farthest edge was pulled up and over the rest of the rug. He lifted the roll up and onto his shoulder, then carried it out the front door and dropped it unceremoniously onto the curb by the mailbox. The next day was trash pick-up day. He stood there for a moment and looked up one side of the street and then down the other, then turned and went back into the house.

* * *

**Apologies for the length of time between updates. If you've been wondering when Crane will appear again, stay tuned. We're about to get into the meat of this story. I hope you'll stick with it, and please leave a note to let me know you're reading and what you think. I really appreciate it! :-) Thanks!**

**ADDITIONAL NOTE 8-6-12: I added some more to this chapter after publishing. I had neglected to include repairing Nick's front door, so that has been added. I'm a stickler for details, so there you go. ;-)  
**


	8. Chapter 8

_Nick stood up from the couch and went to the middle of the room before getting down on one knee. Just as he had when he and Warrick were there, he ran his hand across the carpet, passing over the green hue of the large letter "T". He sighed and stood up again, moving to the edge of the carpet where he bent over and grasped the edge of it with both hands. Working quickly, he rolled the carpet up, moving swiftly across the floor until the farthest edge was pulled up and over the rest of the rug. He lifted the roll up and onto his shoulder, then carried it out the front door and dropped it unceremoniously onto the curb by the mailbox. The next day was trash pick-up day. He stood there for a moment and looked up one side of the street and then down the other, then turned and went back into the house._

Once he was back inside the house, Nick stood by the front door and his eyes swept across the room. It looked almost normal, save for the missing rug and computer. And if he tried really hard he could actually imagine that everything _was_ normal. But he knew better. He could feel it in the air. He could feel it in his body. He was on edge every second he spent there. Logic told him that nothing was wrong…nothing was going to happen…no one was going to bother him here anymore. But the logic in his head did nothing to alleviate the fear in his heart.

He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, leaning back and closing his eyes and sighing.

"_We haven't met. I worked with Mr. Grissom on the Jane Galloway case."_

He shot upright, eyes wide open. He shook his head. He hadn't heard that. Not this time. Still, his heart pounded and he waited a moment to be sure. There was no sound in the room except for the ticking of the clock on the bookshelf. He turned his head to look at the time and decided it wouldn't hurt to go ahead and leave for the lab.

* * *

There were plenty of microscopes in the lab, and right now Nick felt like he was under one of them. He had come down the hall quickly, avoiding eye contact with anyone so as to minimize the amount of small talk he would have to make. A few people managed to get his attention though, and he answered their concerned queries with assurances that he was doing fine. By the time he made it to Grissom's office he was already exhausted from the attention, so he was happy to sit quietly for a few minutes while the supervisor finished up some paperwork before talking to him. Nick tapped his fingers on his knee as he waited.

Grissom kept his head lowered and raised his eyes to look over his glasses at Nick. When he caught Nick's eye, he shifted his gaze to Nick's fingers and then back. Nick stopped the tapping. Grissom took off his glasses and looked up, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. "There's nothing to be nervous about, Nick."

Nick considered telling him he wasn't nervous, but why bother protesting? It was obvious. So instead, he got right to the point. "What did you want to see me for?" He had his own reasons for wanting to talk to Grissom tonight, but he would wait until after the other man had said what he wanted to say.

"How are you feeling?"

Of all the things Nick was expecting to hear, that was not one of them. Caught off guard, he mumbled, "Um...I'm doing okay."

"Good," Grissom answered simply.

When the man did not say anything more, Nick said, "Sooo...?"

"Well...I wanted to catch you up on the case, although...I heard you've been doing a little investigating yourself."

"I thought..." Nick stammered. "Warrick said it was okay...that Catherine wanted us to check it out." Grissom started to say something but Nick kept talking. "I mean...it's a good thing we did...right? Because you guys missed something...something _big_. I think...if you...I mean, what else did you miss? Do I have to go over it again? Because..."

"Nick, calm down." Grissom held up a hand. "I'm glad you took a look. I'm not happy I wasn't informed, but that's not your fault. Anyway, that's neither here nor there. The new evidence you and Warrick collected isn't going to have a bearing on anything."

Nick narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What do you mean? Why not?"

Grissom sighed, truly regretting having to say this. "Because the D.A. isn't going to bring Crane up on the stalking charges."

It took Nick a moment to process what he had just heard, but once he did he sat back in his chair and stared hard at his supervisor. "You think I made that up? Or you think I'm crazy? Which one?"

"Neither, Nick. We all believe it happened. But the fact is that the two murders take precedent. Besides having more evidence to convict, the penalties are more severe. He's going to get locked away for good. Adding the additional charges would just muddle the case up and could potentially get him set free if it's not done right." Grissom sighed again. "It's the right way to go, Nick. I'm sorry."

"Wait a minute. Evidence to convict? You mean it's going to trial?"

Grissom nodded. "Crane wants one. And he passed the psych evaluation."

Now Nick laughed, rolling his eyes. "Un-fucking-believable! This is just going to keep dragging on and on, isn't it?"

"I think they'll push for a speedy trial. It'll be over soon."

"You know..." Nick said with an edge to his voice as he stood up to leave. "I'm getting a little tired of being told things are over by people who don't have to live with it."

"Nick..."

"I'm coming back to work next week."

"Nick, I don't know if that's..."

"The doctor said a week," Nick interrupted him. "It's been a week."

"Yes," Grissom agreed. "But she said that before...what happened at your house."

"What happened at my house? Oh, you mean the murder? Or the stalking? Oh wait...there was no stalking, right?" He leaned over the desk a little, his face closer to the other man. "Listen...there's nothing wrong with me now that wasn't wrong with me a week ago. I'll see you Monday." He stood up straight and turned for the door.

"That's fine...but you're working in the lab until you're cleared by the department psychologist."

Nick spun around in surprise to face him. "What? Grissom that's ridiculous!"

The supervisor remained calm, his voice soft and even. "Nick, sit down." When there was no response, he asked, "Please?"

Nick slowly sat back down across from the desk. "I'm not talking to any shrink. I don't need to."

"You have to. It's department policy when you're involved in a shooting."

"There wasn't any _shooting_. The gun went off while we were fighting over it," Nick said, exasperated.

"That's a shooting. And regardless of whether a gun was involved or not, I would require the counseling before I would allow you back to work."

"But why?" Nick's voice came out as almost a whine, and he hated it. This was not going anywhere near the way that he had expected it would. He had figured that Grissom would tell him how the case was going and then they would talk about Nick returning to work. But his boss had thrown him a curve ball with talk of seeing a psychologist.

"Nick, you've had a lot happen in the past week. Besides being physically injured you've been attacked twice and then found out someone had invaded your home…your life. A man was _murdered_ in your home, Nick. You can't tell me that it hasn't affected you."

Nick started to object, but he kept quiet. He knew the man was right…he just didn't want to admit it. But he would rather just deal with it on his own…in private.

When Nick didn't say anything, Grissom continued, "Besides…the court will require it before you're allowed to testify anyway. Otherwise either side could say your testimony was tainted if you weren't mentally fit to talk about all of this."

"If I wasn't mentally _fit_? _Crane's_ the psycho here, and I'm the one being treated like _I'm_ crazy."

"Nick, that's not…"

"Never mind." Nick said curtly. "Anything else? Or can I go now?"

Grissom had meant to go over some more details about the evidence and about how the D.A. was going to present the case, but he decided Nick was way past listening at this point. "You can go," he said. "I'll see you Monday." After the CSI stood up and left the office without answering him, Grissom saw Archie standing in the doorway looking uncertain.

"Is this a bad time?" he asked.

"No." Grissom sighed and waved him in. "What is it, Archie?"

The AV tech entered the office and stood in front of the desk holding a stack of papers. "I finished the video analysis. I can't find Catherine, so I thought you might want it."

Grissom put his glasses back on and held out his hand to take the papers. "And?" He looked down and thumbed through the first few pages.

"Well, like I told Catherine before...there's no mention of Jane after her murder. I mean...there's the footage from her house and him talking about her then, but after she's dead...nothing."

Grissom's eye looked up from the papers to Archie. "What _does_ he talk about then?"

"It's only a couple of days' worth of footage, but...Nick. That's what he talks about."

"And you still found no footage from Nick's house?"

Archie shook his head. "None. But it was weird. He talked like they were friends...like they'd been hanging out and stuff...watching TV, eating out, going to the movies...it's kind of like a video diary."

Grissom wrinkled his brow, thinking about the movie ticket stubs that had been found stashed in the box at Nick's with the other items.

"Grissom?" When Archie got no answer he asked again louder, "Grissom?"

The supervisor startled to attention and looked at him. "What?"

"You don't think...you aren't thinking that's true, are you? What he said about hanging out with Nick?

"No...no." Grissom quickly shook his head. "Crane's delusional. We know that. Is there anything else on the tapes that you think is pertinent?"

"I don't think so," said Archie. "I'm done with Nick's computer too."

"Anything there?"

"The email Nick got from his prom date was sent the morning before Jane was killed, but Nick says he didn't read it until the next night. Looks like it was first opened though at 7:54 PM the previous night, then it was marked "save as unread". So when Nick opened his email up it still looked like it was new mail…unread."

Grissom pursed his lips, thinking. "7:54 PM the night Jane was killed…Nick was on shift…a breaking and entering at an office supply store on Decatur. He finished up there and came over to Jane's to help Catherine and me."

"So he couldn't have opened the email then," concluded Archie. "The computer and the email program were opened with the password though…no backdoor entry or work-around was used, so…I don't know. If it was Crane…he knew the password."

"I'll check with Nick and see if there's any way it could have been compromised. Thanks, Archie."

"No problem." He left the office but stopped short when he heard Grissom call his name. He went back and stuck his head in the door. "Yeah?"

"Sorry…I forgot to ask. Were there any prints on the computer?"

Archie sighed. "Just Nick's."

* * *

After his discussion with Grissom, which had turned into more of a confrontation than either man had wanted, Nick had stood up and left the office without answering. He headed quickly through the halls, his head down, making his way to the exit and avoiding talking to anyone just as he had when he had come in. When he reached the front door he pushed it open with his shoulder and exited, running directly into Catherine who was on her way in.

"Whoa! Where's the fire?!"

"Sorry," he mumbled as he tried to push on past her.

"Hey, hold on." She put her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

Still angry and upset, he tried to put it behind him and sound normal as he told her he was fine and that he was just in a hurry, but he wasn't able to fool her.

"Aw hell...you just talked to Grissom, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Nick looked away and across the street. "I gotta go." He pulled his arm away from her and walked toward the parking garage, but he knew she was following him before he even heard her footsteps behind him. "Catherine, I'm not in the mood, okay?" he said without turning around or breaking stride. But she did not stop. She followed him into the garage and all the way to his SUV where he put his hand against it and lowered his head, sighing. He looked and saw her next to him. "You're not going away until I talk to you, are you?" She grinned and he couldn't help but smile back. "Get in."

* * *

Sara walked into the break room to find Warrick at the table leaning his chair back on two legs as he held a newspaper up in front of his face, a half-eaten sandwich in front of him on the table next to a can of Coke. "Hey, I just saw Nick out in the hall."

Warrick put the paper down and looked up. "Yeah, Grissom wanted to see him tonight."

"Uh oh." She sat down across from him with her own meal in a canvas lunch bag. "Is that good or bad?"

"Dunno." He shrugged. "All I know is he told Nick he could go back home now that the scene's been released."

"Is he going to?" Sara asked incredulously. "I don't think I could go back home after all that."

"Says he wants to try." Warrick took a drink from his soda and put the newspaper back up in front of his face.

"Yeah, well..." She unwrapped her sandwich. "I still don't think I could..." She stopped mid-sentence and uttered a curse.

Warrick peered at her over the paper. "What?"

"Look." She pointed to the side of the newspaper that was facing her.

He frowned and turned the paper around, then uttered a curse of his own that was much louder than hers. He laid the newspaper down flat on the table between them, and they both stared at the headline which read, _"Is 'Attic Creeper' Fit for Trial?"_

"Attic Creeper? Is that what they're calling him?" Sara asked.

"Looks like it," answered Warrick as he scanned the article. "Damn it!" He read aloud, "Clark County District Attorney Scott Cavenaugh announced today that he will pursue first degree murder charges against accused cable worker, Nigel Crane, in the deaths of Jane Galloway and Morris Pearson. Galloway was allegedly the victim of stalking by Crane, and Pearson was helping to investigate her murder when he too was killed, reportedly at the home of a second stalking victim. Sources close to the case indicate that Crane has exhibited erratic and psychotic behavior both before and after his arrest, yet the defense is not considering any type of insanity or diminished capacity plea."

"That's bullshit!" exclaimed Sara. "They're not considering it because Crane doesn't want it! _And_ he passed the psych evaluation! They make it sound like he's being persecuted or something!"

"This thing is gonna get a whole lot more fucked up before it's over." Warrick looked grim.

"The only good thing…at least they didn't put Nick's name in there."

Warrick crumpled the paper up into a ball and threw it across the room where it hit the counter and bounced cleanly into the garbage can. "Yeah, but it _will_ be. Count on it."

* * *

"Look, Nick...he frustrates me too, believe me. But I think in his own way...he's trying to do the right thing. He just doesn't know how to show it."

Nick just shook his head at her. The two of them were sitting in the front of his SUV but had driven outside to park along the curb down the street a little way. "Catherine, he's treating me like I'm some kind of nut case, and I didn't do anything wrong. I shouldn't have to see a shrink just to come back to work."

"Like I said, he has good intentions. I know he does. And honestly? Even if it wasn't policy, I would want you to talk to someone before coming back."

"That's what _he_ said." Nick rolled his eyes.

"Well, it's non-negotiable, so it's not even worth thinking about it and getting upset. Just go talk to the psychologist and get the okay to come back to work and you'll be fine." She watched him as he looked down and then away from her. Suddenly, the realization hit her. "You're afraid you won't pass," she whispered. "Oh, Nick…"

_Damn it._ He looked up at her, blinking back tears and hoping he could keep from crying in front of her. _That's all I need to have happen. _

"Is that what the problem is?" she asked.

He nodded slightly and put his head down again. "I guess," he mumbled. "Maybe. I don't know. I just feel all...messed up...confused."

She gave him a sympathetic look and said gently, "Then don't you think maybe it's not such a good idea to come back just yet?"

"I don't know what else to do. I'm sick of just sitting around all day at Warrick's. I'm sick of feeling like I don't have a place to go. And then...I went back home this afternoon and...shit, I don't even know if I can stay there. I keep getting all freaked out over stuff...and trying to figure it out...and...hell, everything's all fucked up."

"The doctor can help you with that, Nick." She put her hand on his arm and he looked over at her. "That's what he's for...to help you straighten things out and feel better." When he just sighed in response, she added, "You have to see him anyway to come back to work...might as well let him help you."

He seemed to consider this, and uttered, "Yeah...maybe," then looked out the window. "You'd better get back before they come looking for you."

"You okay?"

He turned back to her and smiled. "Yeah...sure. Thanks for the talk."

She smiled back. "Do you want to come stay at my place for awhile?"

"Thanks, but...no." He shook his head.

"You can babysit to pay your rent," she said with a wink.

He laughed, despite his still glum mood, then grew serious again. "I appreciate it, Catherine. But I really think I need to go back home. I have to try. I have to see how it feels."

"Okay then." She opened her door to get out. "But promise you'll call me if you need anything. Anyime. Okay?"

"I will. Thanks again." He gave her a small wave as she closed the door.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is still reading the story! I hope you are still enjoying it! Special thanks to JacquiT, NickyFan, Vinsmouse, and JennaTN who continue to be faithful reviewers. I can't tell you enough how much your feedback means to me! Thank you!**


	9. Chapter 9

Nick sat in his SUV in the driveway of his home as the last bit of light faded from the evening sky, looking at the roof of the building. Nothing seemed out of place. In fact, from here he couldn't even see the window that Crane had used to go in and out of the attic. _Fuck him._ He got out of the car and walked around the side of the house, looking up as he went. When he got to the back of the house, he walked all the way to the alley and then turned around. Now, from this far back, he could see the window on the roof. It was closed, and he knew it was locked, but still the sight of it gave him a sick feeling deep inside. It was even darker now, and a chill ran up his spine. He quickly made his way up the walk to the back door and let himself in, closing the door behind him and locking it, then peering out from between the blinds. Before walking away from the door, he flipped the outside light on.

The inside of the house was bright. It had to be. He had left several lights turned on, not knowing exactly how late...or dark...it would be when he got home. He stood in the kitchen and looked around. It had been a long day, and he felt exhausted, but he couldn't bring himself to go to bed. Not yet. He opened the refrigerator and leaned in. Nothing had really spoiled in the time he'd spent away, but nothing looked appetizing either. He decided on a bottle of beer and picked it up, closing the door and leaning against the counter. He started to twist off the cap, but as he held it in front of him he turned the bottle around a few times, examining it. The warm air from the house hit the cold glass and formed a light layer of moisture. He placed his thumb directly and purposefully against the neck of the bottle and then took it away, watching as the condensation revealed the ridges of his thumb print. He studied it for a moment and then turned the bottle around again looking at the surface of the glass, then titled it up to examine the bottom. Nothing. He twisted the cap off and headed for the living room.

Once in the living room, Nick sat down on the couch and leaned back. He turned to his left and glanced at the front door. The temporary deadbolt was still locked, just as he had left it. He looked to his right at the window blinds which were closed tight, also just as he had left them. His eyes narrowed, however, when he noticed the slight gap at the edge of the blinds between them and the wall. Through the gap he could see the back porch light from his neighbor's house. He knew anyone standing outside the window could see in as well. _Is that what he did?_ He got up and went to the window and tucked the blinds into the window frame so that there was no longer a gap there and then went back to the couch.

He took a long, deep drink from the beer bottle and set it down on the coffee table. Looking around the room, he had no idea what to do next. He had cancelled his cable service with a quick phone call two days ago from Warrick's house, so he couldn't watch television even if he wanted to, which he didn't. His computer was still in evidence at the lab so he couldn't use it either. He looked at the books on his shelf and the magazines on the end table but knew it would be useless to try to concentrate on any of them. It wasn't late enough yet to go to sleep, even for a night off when he usually tried to stick to a more normal sleep routine. _Fuck it. _He got up from the couch and grabbed his car keys.

* * *

"From the lady." The bartender placed a full bottle next to the one Nick was currently nursing. So far tonight he had already cleared away four empties from the bar in front of the CSI.

Nick turned and cast a hazy gaze in the direction the man was pointing and saw a pretty dark-haired woman looking his way, a smile on her face and one finger tracing the rim of her wine glass. He tipped his bottle at her and gave her a nod before turning away.

The bartender was busy wiping clean glasses dry with a towel. "Not tonight, eh, Nick?"

Nick shrugged but turned to look at the woman again and saw her making her way over to the bar. She sidled up beside him and leaned in close, one elbow on the bar.

"I noticed you staring at me."

"Just looking," Nick countered. "Thanks for the beer," he mumbled and turned away again.

But she was not deterred. She slid herself up onto the stool next to him and crossed her legs, her shiny blue dress hiking high up over her knees. "You look kind of lonely," she said as she reached out and placed her hand over his on the bar.

Her hand felt cool and soft against his, but he slid it out from under her. "Not really."

"No?" she pouted and took a sip from her glass. "That's too bad. Because I am."

"You are what?"

"Lonely, silly." She laughed and put her hand on his arm.

"Oh. Yeah." He shook his head quickly from side to side as if to clear the cobwebs. "Sorry." He cleared his throat. "I've had a few." He tilted his bottle up and drained the last of his beer, then picked up the fresh one she had bought for him. He held it up and considered it for a moment before he grinned and added, "But I guess another won't hurt, huh?"

"Nope!" she agreed, laughing again and stroking his arm. She leaned in close and whispered, "I'm Gina."

He leaned in as well, his face nearly touching hers, and whispered back, "Nice to meet you, Gina." He looked from side to side as if to see if anyone could hear him and then leaned in even closer, his lips brushing her cheek as he said, "I'm Nick."

She whispered into his ear this time, "Nice to meet you, Nick."

Her breath was hot against him, and he felt a shiver as it tickled his ear. He could smell her perfume now, a sweet scent that was almost as intoxicating as the beer.

She put a hand to his forehead, lightly tracing the healing cut there and seeing the bruises on his face. "What happened, Nick? Get in a fight?"

"Something like that," he drawled.

"I like that accent," she cooed. "Where'd you get it?"

"Texas, ma'am," he said, exaggerating the twang and then laughed at how silly he sounded, but she seemed to like it.

A huge smile crossed her face. "Ohhhh…I do love a southern man! You wanna go somewhere more private? And…talk?" She looked at him over her glass as she stirred her drink with one finger. She stared into his dark eyes as she took her finger out of the glass and put it into her mouth to lick the beverage from it.

Nick glanced out of the corner of his eye at the bartender who was watching them. The man gave him a wink and looked the other way. Nick turned his attention back to the woman who was waiting expectantly for an answer, still smiling seductively at him. _Ah, what the hell._ He stood up and took Gina's arm, helping her hop off of the barstool.

She leaned against him, putting her arm around his waist as they walked toward the back of the barroom toward a booth. Halfway there he stumbled against a chair and she tightened her hold around him to keep him from falling, both of them laughing.

"Good thing you showed up," he said as he sat down hard in the booth and slid over. "I might not have made it over here alive." He laughed again and set his beer on the table.

The booth was round, big enough for four people, but Gina didn't sit across from him. She sat down and slid around next to him leaving empty space on either side of them. It was dark back here, and the waitresses knew no one sitting in this section of the room wanted to be waited on, so they left them alone.

"So, Nick…" She put her elbow on the table and leaned over so that her face was in front of his. "You're alone, but not lonely…how's that work?"

He leaned forward, his forehead touching hers, and cocked his head a little to the side as he grinned. "I guess I didn't know I was lonely until you pointed it out to me," he answered, his words slurring.

"Happy to help," she whispered. She tilted her head to the side as well and gave him a quick, soft kiss on the lips.

He felt her hand moving across his thigh under the table. He put his hand on hers…to stop it? He wasn't sure, but the decision was not his to make as she closed her hand over his and moved it to lay on her bare knee, then went back to stroking his thigh. His breath hitched as she moved from the top of his leg to the inside, sliding back and forth.

She smiled with satisfaction. "Feels good, doesn't it, Nick?" she purred. She got her answer as she moved her hand up higher and he let out a low moan and gripped her knee tightly.

Her skin felt soft and inviting beneath his rough hand. He slid it upward, brushing against the hem of her silky dress and slipping a couple of fingers beneath it.

She put her free hand against the side of his face and then on the back of his neck as she pulled him closer to her and brushed another kiss across his lips, then put her face in the crook of his neck, kissing him there and breathing in his scent…a delicious combination of sweat and stale cologne with a hint of soap. She ran her hand up his chest and laid her head on his shoulder, sighing as her other hand continued to work on his thigh.

He put his free arm around her and looked down at her as she leaned against him, snuggling closer. Her dress was low-cut, her breasts straining against the fabric as if wanting to break free of it. The sight was making his heart pump faster, and when he felt her hand find a comfortable place to settle between his legs he felt a familiar stirring deep inside and instinct took over. He slid his hand across the smooth front of her dress, cupping her right breast, feeling her chest heave as she gasped at his touch.

She turned into him, pressing herself against his chest and aiming her kisses at his neck. She mumbled against his skin, "You like it, Nick…I can _feel_ how much you like it." She punctuated her sentence with a firm squeeze of the hardness under his jeans, eliciting a low moan from him, and when she began to nibble at his neck with her teeth, she knew she had him. He pulled her even tighter against him with one arm while his other hand delved deeper under the skirt of her dress, and she lifted her leg up over him, straddling him, both of her arms now around him.

Nick groaned when her hand left its position between his legs, partly from disappointment but mostly because she had brought him as close to the edge as possible without going over and his body was demanding that he do something about it. One hand was still full with her breast and he pulled the other one out from under her skirt to put it behind her head, tilting it up and holding it firmly as he brought his mouth down hard against hers.

She moaned as well when the action moved to their upper bodies, but his hands were magic no matter where he put them. And now they were roaming her body while his mouth devoured hers. She kissed him back just as hard, their tongues dancing together or waging war, she wasn't sure which but it was leaving her breathless. His shirt was un-tucked, and she let her hand glide underneath it and up the smooth skin of his abdomen and chest, feeling the hard muscles there. Both hands now slid around to his back and up to his strong shoulders, her nails raking his skin.

He bit his lip to keep from crying out and then moved his mouth to her neck gently biting his way up to her ear. His eyes wandered past her into the bar to see if anyone was looking, but the darkness was their friend, keeping their secret. "What do you want?" he whispered huskily against her ear. "Hmm?" His hand was tangled in her hair as he trailed his lips down her neck and across her bare shoulder.

Her body shivered and she titled her head back to give him easier access, letting out a contented sigh as she felt his warm mouth making its way back up her neck. His lips found hers again and greedily consumed them as she tried to answer him. They broke apart, and she wrapped her arms around him and told him breathlessly, "You…I want you…"

He took her arms from around him, pushing her away from him so that he could look into her eyes as he held her face in his hands and asked her, "Want me to what?"

She grinned wickedly at him and went for his mouth again, her hands wandering down his body. They kissed hungrily for a few moments before she pressed herself against him and begged softly in his ear, "Let's get out of here, Nick…take me home with you." She bit his ear for emphasis.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. He could just imagine how incredible it would be.

_She looked up at him from his bed as he loomed over her, one hand planted on either side of her, the muscles in his arms defined and strong as he lowered himself to kiss her and then pushed himself up again. He moaned as he entered her again, exuding a small whimper from her that aroused him even more, and he thrust with more intensity as she grabbed his bare ass with her hands and tried to pull him even closer to her. Breathless, he laid himself down on her and let his lips wander down her neck and across her shoulder as she moved her hands up his back and then tangled them in his thick, dark hair._

"_Lemme on top now, baby," she begged._

"_Yeah?" he mumbled against her skin as he continued stroking in and out of her._

"_Don't worry…I know how to ride…cowboy." She laughed softly._

_He laughed as well. "Hold on tight then." He wrapped his arms around her and rolled over carefully, taking her with him and never breaking their connection. He watched her as she pushed herself upright and began to rock back and forth slowly on top of him. The moonlight through his bedroom window illuminated her pale skin and he admired her breasts which looked just as beautiful as he had expected them to now that they were free of the shiny blue dress._

_She saw the look of pleasure on his face as he lay against the pillow, and she lay back down over him, sliding up to whisper in his ear, "How am I doing, cowboy?"_

_He watched as she lowered herself and then he wrapped his arms around her, grinning at her comment when suddenly his smile faded. At the end of the bed…beyond where seconds ago he was mesmerized by her movements…in the doorway stood a lone, still figure, the moonlight reflecting off of his thick, dark-rimmed glasses._

* * *

"Stop apologizing."

Nick slunk down farther in the passenger seat and looked sideways at Warrick who was driving. "But you were working. I'm sorry. ..I didn't know who else to call."

"It's okay, man. I'm just glad you did instead of trying to drive yourself."

"Huh," Nick scoffed. "No way that was gonna happen. I kinda lost count of how many I had."

"That's the first sure sign you shouldn't drive." Warrick laughed. They drove on in silence for a few minutes before he asked, "So…what'd she say?"

"What'd she _say_? More like what'd she _do_? She freaked out…like me."

"What'd _you_ do?"

"I just…I mean…," Nick stammered before putting it out there. "I didn't go nuts or scare her or anything. I just…when I thought about taking her home…and then there he was…I just kind of snapped out of it and told her no…pushed her off of me."

"Were you really gonna take her home, man?" Warrick asked.

Nick shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. I wasn't exactly thinkin' straight, you know? But…man…it felt good, Warrick." He looked over at him. "You know?"

"Yeah."

"I haven't felt good in that way…in _any_ way…in a long time. She made me forget about everything for awhile and just…feel good."

"Is that why you went there? Lookin' for…" Warrick didn't finish the sentence.

Nick shook his head. "Nah…I didn't have anything else to do. I was bored. I didn't mean to drink that much…or pick up a girl."

"No chance of seeing her again, I guess?"

"No." Nick laughed a little. "I don't think so. She was confused…and I didn't have any answers for her…just…that we were done. She was pissed though…said she'd wasted her whole night on me."

Warrick winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah." Despite knowing it wasn't going to turn into anything serious, Nick still looked wounded at her comment. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I told Grissom I want to come back to work next week."

His friend knew better than to question it. "Yeah…Catherine told me."

Nick looked at him and waited. "What? You got nothing to say about it?"

"Like what?"

"Like how I'm not ready? Like how I need some kind of counseling about it?"

"Didn't Grissom and Catherine tell you that?" asked Warrick.

"Yeah."

"Then I don't need to," he said matter of factly as he pulled into Nick's driveway and shut off the engine.

"This scared me, Warrick," Nick said quietly. "I don't know what's real and what's not anymore."

Warrick looked at him. "So what are you going to do?"

Nick opened the door and got out. He leaned back in and said, "Whatever I have to do. Thanks again for the ride," before closing the door.

* * *

**I hope you all enjoyed that! There's a little box right under the chapter where you can say a few words and let me know what you think. :-) I hope you will! I love getting feedback. It provides the inspiration to keep going and get the next chapter up. Thanks again for reading and reviewing! **


	10. Chapter 10

_"This scared me, Warrick," Nick said quietly. "I don't know what's real and what's not anymore."_

_Warrick looked at him. "So what are you going to do?"_

_Nick opened the door and got out. He leaned back in and said, "Whatever I have to do. Thanks again for the ride," before closing the door._

* * *

Maybe they were deliberately trying not to notice him. Or maybe he was making a bigger deal out of it than it really was. But as Nick walked down the halls of the lab and into the locker room on Monday morning, no one stared at him. No one whispered behind his back. And no one asked him how he was doing. Just the way he wanted it.

"Hey, there he is!" Warrick exclaimed as he entered the room to find Nick sitting on the bench in front of his open locker. He opened his own locker and hung up his jacket before he turned to Nick and asked, "How was your weekend?"

Nick finished tying his shoe and sat up. He looked tired, but he smiled. "Not bad."

Warrick gave him a skeptical look and closed his locker door, then sat next to him. "Really?"

"Yeah...well..." Nick's smile faltered a little. "Not bad doesn't mean good...you know? But...I got through it."

"What happened?"

Nick stood up and tucked his shirt in. "Just...feeling creepy...hearing noises...the usual."

"The usual...?" Warrick started to ask but was interrupted by the appearance of Grissom at the door.

"Nick?" the supervisor said. "I need to see you."

Nick closed his locker and looked at him. "I already made the appointment."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "With Dr. Stanton?"

Nick nodded and looked at his watch. "He's meeting me here in a couple of hours." He looked up and questioned Grissom with his eyes. "Until then...?"

"We still need to talk. And then the print lab has some stuff piled up that needs filing."

He sighed, but tried not to look as disappointed as he felt. He had expected this. "Okay." He turned to Warrick and said, "See ya later," and left the room.

* * *

No matter what the situation, entering Grissom's office always made Nick feel a little nervous. Today was no exception. The door was open, but he knocked lightly on the frame anyway as the supervisor was not alone and was engaged in conversation with someone.

Grissom looked up. "Nick...come on in. You know D.A. Cavanaugh, don't you?" He gestured to the man who was sitting across from him at the desk.

"Yeah...sure...hi." Nick extended his hand to the man.

The D.A. shook it and asked how he was doing.

Nick cleared his throat. "Good. Uh...Grissom, should I come back, or...?"

"No, no...have a seat." Cavanaugh nodded at the empty chair next to him and Nick tentatively sat down.

"What's going on?"

"We thought you'd like to know where we are on the case," said Cavanaugh. "The Crane case," he added, as if it were possible that Nick might be thinking of any other case right now.

"Okay." Nick tried to sound surer than he felt about this, and he leaned back into the chair, trying to appear relaxed. "So where are we?"

"We've given all of the evidence that we believe to be pertinent over to the D.A.'s office," said Grissom. "So as far as the lab is concerned…the case is closed on our end. Scott?"

"Nick, I think you've probably heard a little bit already about how we plan to proceed." When the CSI nodded in agreement, the D.A. continued. "We're filing first degree murder charges against Mr. Crane for the deaths of Jane Galloway and Morris Pearson. Crane passed the psych evaluation and he..."

"Yeah...how'd that happen?"

"He's not insane," Cavanaugh said matter of factly. "He's done some crazy things, but he's responsible for them. He knew what he was doing. And he's going to stand trial and be punished for it."

Nick sighed. "Okay...what else?"

"Well, as I started to say, he wants a trial."

"Why? What's his agenda?"

"I don't know," answered the D.A. "But it seems that his past pattern of seeking attention from targeted individuals would suggest that it's a way for him to keep that up."

Nick looked from the man to Grissom and then back. "Me? You think he's not pleading out so he has a chance to see me again?"

"I'm not a psychiatrist, Nick," said Cavanaugh. "But it's a possibility. He knows you'll be a witness at the trial."

"But you're not bringing him up on the stalking charges?"

"No." The D.A. shook his head and looked at Grissom.

"We went over that already, Nick," Grissom spoke up. "The evidence isn't sufficient enough to get a conviction. And introducing it could be distracting to the jury. It could let him walk on the murders."

"Well...we don't want to be distracting, do we?" Nick said with more than a hint of disdain.

Cavanaugh exchanged glances with Grissom before addressing the CSI. "Nick, look...bottom line is we want this guy put away, right? Two first degree murder convictions will do that, and for a long time if not forever. I'm sorry, but...that's what we need to focus on."

Nick knew the man was right. He'd seen this before but had never been happy about it. But once his job of collecting the evidence was finished, he no longer had a say in what happened. Sometimes the evidence wasn't enough and the criminals walked free. Sometimes they pleaded out to lesser charges and got fewer years behind bars. And sometimes they weren't brought up on some of the charges at all in exchange for a conviction on something else. And that's where this was headed. He sighed. "What do you need from me then?"

Both of the other men looked relieved that Nick seemed to be accepting of the situation. The D.A. leaned forward in his chair. "You'll be my key witness, Nick. I've got a lot of evidence on Jane's murder, but the bulk of the Pearson case is going to be relying on your testimony. Also backing up what we know about what happened to Jane."

"No, pressure, huh?" Nick snorted.

"Look...Nick...if you feel like you aren't..."

"I'm fine," he said curtly. "I'll be fine. I'll do whatever you need me to do." He stood up. "I'm seeing the shrink in a little bit and he'll tell you I'm fine too. He'll testify to it if you want...whatever. I'm fine and I'm not gonna freak out and they aren't going to be able to say I'm crazy. Anything else?"

"Nick..." Grissom started to address Nick's attitude but quite frankly didn't know what to say. He knew things were difficult right now for the CSI, but he hoped that seeing the psychologist would help. It had to help, or else losing this case might not be the only fallout from Crane's actions. He sighed. "No, nothing else. You can go."

"I'll be in touch," said Cavanaugh as he stood up and offered his hand to Nick.

Nick looked at it for a moment and then shook it. "Yeah...yeah, thanks," he mumbled and then left the office.

* * *

"We could have met somewhere off-site," Dr. Hugh Stanton noted as he watched Nick close the door to the conference room and close the blinds. "…if you're concerned about privacy."

Nick made a final check that the window was completely covered and then sat down at the table across from the psychologist. "Yeah...I'm a little concerned about privacy these days. But then, you know that, right?"

"I'm familiar with your case, yes. That's why I'm here."

"Yeah, well..." Nick leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together in front of him. "I'm not here to talk about my case. I'm here to get cleared to go back to work."

"I'm aware of that as well, Nick. And that's my goal too. To make sure you're ready and that things are going okay with you." He opened a file folder and pulled out a piece of paper, holding it up in front of him as he examined it. "Your supervisor recommends that you have at least three sessions with me before we consider letting you go back into the field." He peered at Nick over the paper. "How do you feel about that?"

Nick shrugged. "Depends on how fast we can get them done. Look, I don't want to be rude, but if I need some kind of counseling about what happened...which I don't...but if I do, I can get that on my own. I don't need to do that right here, right now. You're the department psychologist and you're the one I have to see to make sure I'm still fit for duty, so...let's do that. Okay?"

The doctor smiled and put down the paper, closing the folder over it and then opening up a small notebook. "Okay. Let's do that. Just remember that the offer is open if there is anything you want to talk about or need help with...related to the case or not."

"Sure...sure." Nick leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "So what do you want to know?"

"How's your health? Are you eating well? Sleeping?"

"Yeah...pretty much."

The doctor made a note and looked up. "Pretty much?"

"Sleep is..." Nick hesitated and sighed. "It's touch and go."

"You're back at home now, correct?"

He nodded. "Buddy of mine fixed everything up for me. Good as new."

Dr. Stanton waited to see if the CSI would elaborate, and when he didn't he asked, "So everything looks the same as it was before, but...?" He let the implication of a question hang in the air.

"But what?" Nick asked, sounded annoyed.

"But everything's not the same, Nick. Right? I mean, you went through some pretty traumatic things there."

"I go through traumatic things every day," he countered. "It's part of my job."

"This wasn't at your job. This was at your home. How are you dealing with that?"

"It sucks!" Nick threw up his hands. "Is that what you want to hear? It sucks that this guy can get into my life...get into my _house_...and I didn't even realize it was going on."

"And you think that makes you a bad CSI?" asked Stanton.

Nick started to respond but stopped. He knew the answer, but he didn't want to give it. That was exactly what he thought. He had even talked it over with Warrick, wondering how he could have missed the signs. And now he feared that the doctor was going to agree and recommend that he not be allowed to go back to work. "Do you?" he asked hesitantly.

"No." Stanton shook his head and smiled. "We turn off when we go home, Nick. We're in our comfort zone, a place where we're supposed to feel safe. We'd all go crazy if we tried to do our jobs 24 hours a day. And no one expects us to. Not even if we're law enforcement officers. Is that what you think? That you failed somehow?"

"Of course!" The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. _Shit._ "I just..." He sighed. "I should have seen the signs."

"Had you had any problems at work before this? Missed any evidence? Made any mistakes in processing?" When Nick shook his head, the doctor continued. "So this...failure...of yours in noticing things weren't quite right...was just in your house...your life...right? Not on the job?"

"Right."

"And do you think anything has changed now? Are you going to be less careful on the job now? Do you think you can't do it?"

What was this guy up to? "Of course not," Nick scoffed. "Even if I did," he added hesitantly, "why would I tell you? You wouldn't let me go back to work then."

"I think you'd tell me, Nick. Because I don't think you like feeling like this. And I think you want to feel better." He leaned forward, trying to catch the CSI's eye. "Am I right?"

Nick lowered his head and then nodded slightly. "Yeah…" he whispered. "I want to feel better." He looked up. "I want to fix this."

The doctor nodded back. "Good. Now, I see no reason why you can't stay here…keep working. In the lab," he clarified, "not in the field yet. But we'll get there. Okay?"

He hadn't wanted to talk to this man. He hadn't seen any reason for it. It was only an impediment to getting on with his normal life. But in truth, he had no other plan for getting on with his "normal life". He didn't want to keep burdening Warrick or Catherine with his problems, and he certainly wasn't going to go to Grissom with them.

As if reading his mind, Stanton said, "You know, anything you say to me is held in strictest confidence. And I make no judgments, Nick. I just listen. So if you ever want to talk about anything…if you feel like you don't want to say it to anyone else…you can always talk to me. However you want to do this is fine with me, but we _are_ going to get you back to a place where you want to be…in your work, your personal life…whatever you need. We'll get there."

Still unsure, but feeling a twinge of hope, Nick nodded slightly and cleared his throat. "Yeah…sure…thanks." He stood up, as did Stanton, and the two men shook hands. "Thank you," he said again, this time with a little more confidence.

The doctor watched as Nick opened the door to leave. "Same time next week?" Nick agreed, and Stanton sat back down and looked at his notes, marking a few things off and making a few new ones. He was about to gather his belongings up to leave when he looked up at the sound of the door opening.

Nick leaned in and asked quietly, "Hey, do you, uh…do you have a couple more minutes?"

"Of course." Stanton gestured to the empty chair across from him and waited for Nick to speak again after sitting down.

"The other night…I went out…and, well…there was this girl…"

* * *

**Many apologies from me for the time it's taken to update this. I hope some of you are still out there and still interested. I do plan to finish it, and I'm hoping to get back on a regular schedule for updating. Next chapter will take us into the trial phase, so there should be some good stuff there. As always, I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read and especially to leave comments. I value your input and really appreciate it! Thank you!**


	11. Chapter 11

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the case that you are about to hear involves the murders of two innocent people...Jane Galloway...a young woman in the prime of her life who found herself at the mercy of a madman's fixation...and Morris Pearson...a man who, in his quest to help others, found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time making him also a victim of that madman."

Three weeks had passed since Nick had gone back to work. He had spent quite a bit of that time meeting with the District Attorney, preparing for the Nigel Crane murder trial. He had also spent a lot of time talking with the department psychologist. Since his first visit with Dr. Hugh Stanton, despite his initial resistance, Nick had become quite comfortable discussing things with the man. And just a week ago the doctor had given the release for Nick to go back to work in the field. However, it had been agreed that since the trial was moving forward so quickly that he not take on any additional cases until after it was over. Even Nick was willing to accept this decision as he wanted to focus on helping to put Crane behind bars for good. So he had spent the past week continuing to do evidence processing within the lab for the other CSIs.

Quite frankly, he was ready to get this trial over with so that he could move past it and on with his life. Dr. Stanton had talked with him about the significance of this, but he also emphasized that Nick shouldn't look at it as a make or break milestone. Getting on with his life…getting back to normal and being able to deal with what had happened…could not be dependent on the trial and its outcome. Nick was going to have to be able to do that on his own, no matter what happened with Crane. And so the CSI had worked with the doctor on being able to sleep better, getting back into a routine at home, and working without feeling like he was under a microscope all the time. Things had been going well, but as the trial date neared Nick had missed his last two appointments with Stanton and had not returned his phone calls.

District Attorney Scott Cavanaugh turned away from the jury and looked at the defense table, then pointed in that direction. "That man...Nigel Crane...turned Jane Galloway into a prisoner in her own home. You will see and hear evidence that he was obsessed with her, stalked her, and eventually murdered her. In addition, when an innocent bystander...Morris Pearson...sensed her fear and the danger that she and others were in, he tried to help, only to pay for it with his life." Cavanaugh scanned the jury, making eye contact with each person as his eyes passed over them. "Ladies and gentlemen, when you get to the punishment phase of your deliberation…and we believe you _will_ find Mr. Crane guilty and get to that phase…we aren't asking for the death penalty here. You won't be asked to decide whether or not a man loses his life." He turned again to glance at Crane before looking back at the jury. "But _h__e_ did. _He_ made a choice to end two lives. You won't be asked to make that choice, but you will be asked to put him behind bars for a very long time to make sure no one else has to suffer because of him. Once you hear both sides of the case and the evidence we are about to present, I trust you will make the right decision. Thank you."

Nick shifted in his seat, and Catherine leaned over to ask him in a hushed tone if he was all right. He nodded. He hadn't been sure what to expect when the trial started, especially seeing Crane for the first time since the night the man had held him at gunpoint in his own home…since he had watched him from the observation room as the man babbled senselessly after being arrested. He had prepared himself, along with help from Dr. Stanton, for a range of emotions, but he was surprised to find that he felt nothing now as he looked at the man. Crane had entered the courtroom escorted by a deputy and was seated at the defense table alongside his attorney. His appearance was neat, and he wore a pair of gray dress slacks and a white buttoned shirt with a blue tie. He did not look around the room as he was led in, nor did his eyes wander once he was seated. Nick had watched him from the moment he entered the room until he was seated with his back to him, feeling nothing. And now he wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

After Cavanaugh finished his opening arguments and sat down, all eyes went to the defense table where Crane's attorney, Sharon Forte, pushed her chair back and stood up. She was a tall, thin woman, with short, mostly gray hair that made her appear older than her 52 years. Any resemblance to a sweet, older lady, however, went out the door as soon as she started to speak. Forte had made a reputation for herself in her profession. She took on cases that she felt would get her farther in her career, mostly at the expense of innocent people. High profile cases were her specialty. Anything that would get her name on the front page of the newspaper or her face on television, she was eager to take on. There was no need for Nigel Crane to be appointed a public defender. Forte jumped at the chance to defend the "Attic Creeper" as the press called him.

The woman paced back and forth in front of the jury box for a few moments, her head down as she seemed to be pondering what to say. Finally she stopped and looked up at the men and women seated before her. "I'm not sure what to say to you, ladies and gentlemen. The fact is that the state has no evidence to support prosecuting Mr. Crane for these horrific crimes. I am looking forward, as I'm sure you are, to hearing what they have to say. However I'm afraid it won't be much. There is no evidence that he stalked or murdered anyone. Mr. Crane doesn't have many friends, ladies and gentlemen. He's a loner. And he's a bit peculiar. But he's not a murderer. In his admittedly misguided attempt to reach out to people and find companionship...friendship...he happened to cross paths with two other people who had their own vulnerability issues. Jane Galloway...who had taken a sudden leave of absence from work then quit with no notice…who was seeing a doctor for anxiety medication…canceled her credit cards…changed her phone number…barricaded herself in her home behind locks and security systems. And Morris Pearson." Here, she snorted lightly. "Another misfit. Someone who claimed to have a 'gift' for seeing the future. He used his so-called gift to insert himself into police investigations, trying to gain a reputation...to become renowned like some of the more famous psychics, hoping to help solve a big crime and be noticed. But the only reputation he gained was that of a fool...trying to 'warn' people and worm his way into their lives." She looked pointedly at each juror. "He scared people," she stated. "He was different...an oddball...and he _scared_ people. Maybe scared them enough that one of them killed him. Maybe _he_ killed Ms. Galloway. It would be the perfect way to know details about the crime that no one else knew. Not a psychic...just a sad, pathetic murderer. But no matter what happened to these two individuals, Mr. Crane had nothing to do with their deaths. He was just unfortunate enough to have crossed paths with them as he sought friendship and companionship." She shook her head. "Ladies and gentlemen, that is not a crime. Being a loner and being strange is not a crime. And Mr. Crane is not a murderer." She let those words hang in the air as she made her way back to her seat at the defense table.

In the courtroom gallery, Catherine and Nick both sat stunned. What did this woman have up her sleeve? Was she really going to try to claim that someone else...even Morris Pearson himself...had been the killer here? They saw Cavanaugh shuffling papers on the table in front of him, looking through them as if he too had missed something. He looked up as the judge addressed him.

"Mr. Cavanaugh, is the state prepared to begin their case?" Judge David Perry asked.

The man stood up and answered, "Yes, Your Honor. The state would like to call CSI Catherine Willows as its first witness."

Catherine approached the stand and took the oath, then sat down as the D.A. approached her. She stated her name and occupation for the record and then waited for the questioning to begin.

"Ms. Willows," Cavanaugh said, "would you please describe for the jury what happened on the night Jane Galloway was murdered?"

"When I arrived at the scene with my supervisor, Gil Grissom, we found Ms. Galloway's body in her bathroom, draped over the toilet. It appeared that the body had been posed."

"What made you think that?" asked Cavanaugh.

"The bathtub was full of red residue and red stained towels. Tests confirmed it to be hair dye. The victim's hair was wet…it had been dyed in the tub after her death and then she was moved and placed over the toilet," she answered.

Cavanaugh pulled a photo out of a file he had been holding and showed it to her. "Is this one of your photos from the crime scene?" When she confirmed that it was, he requested that the judge allow it to be introduced as evidence. The judge approved, and Cavanaugh placed the photo on a board resting on an easel where the jury could see it. It showed Jane Galloway's body positioned as it had been found, draped across the toilet in her bathroom, her hair shining with the bright red hair dye. "What else did you notice about the body?"

"There were no obvious signs of cause of death. The coroner later determined that she died from asphyxiation…a lack of oxygen."

"So she had been strangled?"

"That was undetermined," Catherine answered. "But we did find a plastic grocery bag under her bed that was most likely used to smother her. We fumed it and found a facial impression on the interior surface that matched Jane's facial features. We determined that it was probable that the bag was placed over her head, cutting off her air supply…until she was dead."

Cavanaugh produced another photograph, this one of the bag in the fuming chamber, showing the facial impression. After again confirming that it was a legitimate crime lab photo, he placed it on the easel next to the other photo. "Did you notice anything unusual in the house?"

"Yes...several things. Her doors and windows had all been barred from the inside. The windows had been nailed shut and covered with tin foil, and the doors each had several locks on them. All of the locks were intact when the police arrived. They had to break the front door in to gain entrance."

"And what did that tell you?"

"That she was hiding," Catherine stated firmly. "That she was afraid. She was keeping someone out. The problem was...with all of the security measures intact, how did her killer escape the house?"

"And were you able to figure that out?" The D.A. asked.

"Not at first. But a second search of the home provided additional evidence. We found signs that someone had been living in her house without her knowledge...watching her. There were holes bored into the ceiling of several rooms in her house. When we went up into the attic, we found surveillance equipment…a digital camera with a fiber optic lens…night vision goggles…a digital video recorder…and a phone that tapped into her house line. A check of Jane's recent phone records showed that she had received numerous calls in the past several days...all from inside the house. It was apparent that someone had been spending a lot of time in the attic...watching her and filming her. There was a small access window up there that was unlocked…it only opened from the inside. We deduced that whoever was stalking her was using the window to come in and out of the house."

"Okay...okay..." Cavanaugh paced in front of the witness stand, head down, appearing to consider what she had just said before looking back at her and asking, "But...how did they get the window open in the first place so that they could continue to come in and out unseen?"

Catherine looked up at him. "It had to have been someone that Jane had let into the house at one point for a legitimate reason...someone who would have been able to access the attic at that time without question. A logical answer was that it was probably a worker...someone she had called to come to the house to fix something or install something. So we investigated her recent service calls and paid visits to each of the workers who had been in the house recently."

"How many were there? And what kinds of places?"

"There was someone from the gas company…a carpet installer…the water company…and the cable man." Catherine cast a quick glance toward Crane.

Cavanaugh noted her look but did not turn that way himself. "What did you find out?"

"Well..." she began hesitantly."There wasn't a lot we could tell from talking to them. None of them acted suspiciously, and background checks on each of them came back clean."

"What made you suspect Mr. Crane was responsible?"

Catherine opened her mouth to speak but stopped as Forte called out an objection to the question.

"On what grounds, Ms. Forte?" asked the judge.

The woman stood up and inquired, "May we approach the bench, Your Honor?"

The judge agreed, and both the defense attorney and the D.A. went to stand before him. Forte spoke to him in a hushed voice, and Cavanaugh suddenly began shaking his head and speaking as well. In a moment, they both went back to their respective tables and the judge addressed the court. "Ladies and gentlemen, there is a matter that I need to discuss with the attorneys in my chambers. We are going to call a recess for lunch at this time and will reconvene at 1:00."

Nick watched as the jury filed out and Catherine stepped down from the witness stand. He stood up as she approached him. "Wonder what that's all about."

She shrugged. "I don't know. Could be the beginning of a really long trial here if she's going to fight us the whole way…and I'm sure she is." She checked her watch. "You want to grab something to eat across the street?"

* * *

The small café was starting to get crowded as the noon hour approached, but Nick and Catherine were able to secure themselves a small table in the corner of the front window. She was working on a large salad while Nick picked at the deli sandwich he had ordered.

"Something wrong with it?" she asked between bites.

"Nah…just not very hungry, I guess."

"Hmph."

He looked up at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What?" she asked innocently.

"That sound you made. Can't a guy not be hungry?"

"Yeah…a guy can…but not you. Not when I've seen you eat _two_ of those bad boys in one sitting without blinking an eye and not when I know for a fact you didn't have anything for breakfast this morning." She narrowed her eyes and took another bite of her salad. "C'mon…it's okay if you're feeling nervous about the trial."

"I know. I just…" He sighed and leaned back in his chair, pushing his plate away from him. "I don't know. That guy…until I know he's going away for good…I still…I can't seem to shake it off."

"It's not easy to do. You're still seeing the psychologist though, right? That should help." Catherine looked away for a second as she wiped her mouth with a napkin and then looked back at him when he didn't answer her. "You _are_ still seeing him…aren't you?"

He cleared his throat and began sheepishly, "Well…I…"

"Oh, Nick! You stopped going?!"

"I didn't stop. I just…I'm taking a break…that's all."

"_Now? _Nick, this isn't the time to take a break! What the hell?" She looked at him in disbelief.

"I only missed two sessions, Cath. It's not like I quit for good. I just needed some time to try to deal with things…on my own…you know?"

She shook her head. "No…no, I don't know. I thought things were going well. You told me they were. You said you thought he was helping."

"He was…is. I just…" He sighed. "I hate it. I hate all of this. Nothing feels right. Maybe when the trial is over…I'll go back…if I need to…but…I just want to get back to normal." He looked at her, his dark eyes pleading with her to understand.

Those eyes never failed to soften her up, and she gave him a small smile, reaching across the table to put her hand over his. "I know you do. Look…if you say you're doing fine right now…I believe you. But promise me if things start to get difficult…you'll go back to see the doctor…or you'll talk to me. Please?"

He smiled back and squeezed her hand. "I promise."

* * *

Everyone in the courtroom stood as the jury filed back in. After they were seated, Judge Perry addressed the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for keeping you here past lunch for no reason, but we're going to need to conclude the proceedings for today. I'll ask that you all reconvene here tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. Court is dismissed." With a pounding of his gavel, the jury stood up and left the room.

Confused, Catherine and Nick looked at each other and then watched Nigel Crane be escorted from the room followed by his attorney. Cavanaugh gathered his papers up off of the table and then came over to them. He did not look happy.

"Scott?" asked Catherine. "What's going on?"

"We need to talk," he said to the two of them. "I think we're in trouble."

* * *

**Anybody out there? :-) I hope so! I very much appreciate those of you who are still reading. I will do my best to update faster from now on. Please leave some feedback and let me know what you think. Thanks!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Forgot to mention in the last chapter, I'm obviously taking some liberties with courtroom procedures...shortcuts on the formalities and things like witnesses hearing all of the testimony, etc. But hey...that's fiction drama for you! :-)**

* * *

_Confused, Catherine and Nick looked at each other and then watched Nigel Crane be escorted from the room followed by his attorney. Cavanaugh gathered his papers up off of the table and then came over to them. He did not look happy. _

"_Scott?" asked Catherine. "What's going on?" _

"_We need to talk," he said to the two of them. "I think we're in trouble."_

* * *

District Attorney Scott Cavanaugh had been as surprised as anyone when the defense attorney, Sharon Forte, had expressed an objection so early in the proceedings. He was even more surprised when they approached the bench and he heard what she had to say to the judge. But nothing could have prepared him for what the result would be after a meeting with Judge David Perry in his chambers.

"That's crazy!" Cavanaugh said to the judge. "They can't do this."

"Calm down, Scott." Perry held up a hand. "Let me hear what she has to say. Go on, Sharon."

The woman turned to the D.A. and gave him a small smile of satisfaction. "I was saying, if I'm not mistaken the prosecution was about to have CSI Willows discuss evidence that I believe to be inadmissible."

"And what evidence is that?" Cavanaugh asked, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.

She opened her notebook and read from a list. "Video tapes, cameras, computer..." She looked up at the judge when she finished reading. "All items obtained illegally from Mr. Crane's home."

"Correction," said Cavanaugh, sitting up straight. "Items all obtained from his home with a legitimate search warrant. Your Honor, it's all right there in the court documents. The warrant was issued and signed by Judge Davies."

"It's _not _legitimate, Your Honor," she countered. "And I'd like it thrown out along with all of the evidence obtained by the serving of it."

Judge Perry pulled his glassed down on his nose and looked over them as he scanned up and down several long sheets of paper listing the evidence in the trial and other legal decisions and documents. He found what he was looking for...Item No. 27. "I don't have the warrant in front of me to examine, but I'm going to need to do that before I make a ruling on it. And I'm going to need to talk to Judge Davies." He looked at the defense attorney. "On what grounds do you claim that this is not a valid warrant?"

Forte answered, "The warrant was issued based on supposed evidence seen inside of Mr. Crane's home by CSI Nick Stokes as well as…an incident…that happened there."

"An incident?" repeated Cavanaugh. "You mean when your client attacked the CSI and threw him out of a window?"

"Supposedly," she sniffed. "We'll get to that later in the trial, I suppose."

"So what? I think the attack plus the evidence he found…the gloves stained with red dye…"

"Again…so he says. They seem to have disappeared, and I…"

"Regardless," he interrupted. "That's plenty enough to secure a warrant to search the house. Judge Davies agreed, and everything found there later is admissible."

"Oh, I agree…it would be. _If_ Stokes had entered the house legally." Forte sat back in her chair and crossed her legs, a look of smug satisfaction on her face.

Judge Perry's eyes opened wide and he looked at the D.A. "Scott? Is that true? What was he doing in the house?"

Cavanaugh's eyes moved from the woman who was looking very relaxed and confident to the judge who was waiting for an answer. "Of course it was legal. He and another CSI were there to question Crane about installing cable in Jane Galloway's house…at that time they were questioning all of the workers who had been in there recently."

"And did they? Question him?" Forte asked, her eyebrows raised.

"He wasn't _there_," he answered, getting more irritated by the minute.

"Then why were they in the house?"

"The door was open! They knocked and called his name…he didn't answer…and they went in to check it out…to make sure nothing was wrong. The warrant was legit!"

"According to the report…" Forte pulled a paper out of the file she was holding and looked it up and down. "The door was 'slightly ajar' when they knocked on it." She looked up. "I don't see any mention of anything that would make them think something was wrong…nothing, certainly, that would merit them walking on into the house…no one screaming…no blood on the floor…no signs of forced entry. For all they knew Mr. Crane had stepped out to get the mail, walk the dog, or just not closed the door all the way when he came in. Regardless, I don't believe they had a legitimate reason to enter the house, therefore everything they found or that happened while they were in there is inadmissible and not grounds for a search warrant. And…"

Cavanaugh was nearly coming out of his chair now. "This is ridiculous!"

"_And_…" she continued. "If the grounds for the warrant weren't there, then anything _found_ with the warrant isn't there either. It doesn't exist."

"Your Honor…" The D.A. was practically pleading now. "There certainly _were_ grounds for the warrant or the judge wouldn't have signed off on it. The defense is grabbing at straws…trying to get some of our most damning evidence thrown out. We have Mr. Crane on his own video collection watching the first victim in her home, recording her and talking about her and a whole multitude of other ramblings that will show his state of mind and actions prior to the murders. Not to mention a collection of other surveillance equipment similar to that found at the victim's house. It's the crux of our whole case."

Judge Perry sat back in his chair, tapping his desk with a pen as he considered what both sides had to say. "All right…all right. Listen…she has a point, Scott. I'm going to have to investigate it, you know that. I'll talk to Davies…see if he had all of the facts about the grounds for the warrant when he issued it and see if he still stands by it. If so, your evidence can be introduced. If not…well…" He stood up. "You'd better be thinking of another way to proceed with this case. We'll stand in recess until tomorrow morning. Hopefully I can get this settled before then. You can both expect a call from me later today."

* * *

Nick walked into his house and flopped down onto the couch with a sigh. The first day of the trial had turned out to be just a half a day, but it had been exhausting, especially mentally. After lunch the D.A. had met with him and Catherine and broken the news about the search warrant. There was still a possibility, of course, that the judge would allow it and things would proceed as planned, but Nick had a bad feeling about it in his gut. Something had felt "off" for him from the minute the trial started. He had attended hundreds of court proceedings over the course of his career, but this one felt different. And it wasn't just that it involved him personally this time. Something just didn't feel right.

Crane wasn't part of the problem. At least not yet. Nick had been surprised to find that the sight of the man after several weeks didn't seem to affect him at all. Dr. Stanton would probably have something to say about that...if Nick was still going to see him. He hadn't lied to Catherine. He didn't intend to stop going for good. He just felt like he needed to get through the trial on his own...with no distractions...no analyzing of his feelings or reactions. He didn't see any need for that right now. Maybe later he would change his mind...but not now.

The trial was not expected to last very long, and since Nick was involved personally in it as well as professionally he had been relieved of his duties at the lab until it was over. It was a thin line...being a victim and a witness and an investigator all at the same time. Therefore it had been decided that it would be best if he didn't do any work while the trial was ongoing, just to ensure that there was no appearance of a conflict of interests. So now, the nine-to-five daytime routine of the court system had him feeling turned around and upside down after being used to working the graveyard shift. He had worked overnight the day before the trial began, so to tell the truth he could use this early day to catch up on his sleep and be ready to go the next morning. He could already feel it catching up with him.

He went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Leaning over, he scanned the bare contents and then reached in to grab a carton of orange juice. He took several swigs straight from the carton and put it back, closing the door. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at the clock on the wall. Still too early to really try to sleep, but…maybe just a nap. He went to the bedroom and climbed onto the bed, not bothering to pull the covers back. He sighed gratefully as he eased himself down on the soft mattress and laid his head on the pillow. One arm draped across his body, he put the other one across his eyes to shut out the light of the late afternoon. He tried not to think about how the case might proceed if the judge ruled against their warrant and they lost so much of their evidence. He tried not to think about what a major blow that would be to the prosecution. And especially he tried not to think about the possibility of Crane walking away from it a free man.

* * *

"Hey, Cath," Nick greeted her as they both arrived at the door to the courthouse together the next morning. He held the door open for her. "You're early." They walked into the crowded lobby together.

"You too."

"Did you hear anything?"

She shook her head. "No…must have been a late decision…if they even came to one. How was your night?"

"Not bad," he answered, stifling a yawn, and this time he _was_ lying. He had fallen asleep for hours when he had intended to take just a short nap and later he wasn't able to get back to sleep again until almost dawn.

Catherine gave him a suspicious eye but did not push further on the matter. "There's no way, is there? There's no way they would call that warrant invalid."

"I guess we're about to find out." Nick nodded toward the D.A. who was approaching them. "Morning, Scott."

"Good morning," he answered, although he looked like it was anything _but_ a good morning. "Let's go somewhere and talk."

* * *

The small conference room adjacent to their courtroom was reserved for consultations and breaks on the prosecution side. The trio entered the room and sat down, and Nick and Catherine braced themselves for what they already knew was coming.

"He threw it out." Cavanaugh sighed. "We lost the warrant and all of the evidence that came from it."

"Damn it," Catherine uttered.

Nick said nothing, although he was a mixture of nerves and anger right then.

"So where do we go from here?" she asked.

"I'm done questioning you. Everything I was going to ask next…it's all gone. You're ready for cross."

"Yeah…" Nick spoke up. "But where do we _go_ from here? Not just right now…but the case." He was getting more keyed up by the minute. "How the hell are we going to prove he did anything…how crazy he is…without those tapes?"

"Look, it'll be okay," Cavanaugh tried to reassure him. "We have the evidence from Jane's house. And…" He paused, unsure of how Nick would react to the rest of what he was planning.

"And? What?"

"And we have you," the D.A. answered simply.

"Me?" Nick narrowed his eyes. "What about me?"

"We're going to have to amp up your part in this. I'm sorry…Nick…I know you were going to testify about everything that happened anyway, but now this is going to be what our case hinges on. We're really going to have to make sure that your testimony is solid…that it sticks…and that the jury believes you."

"That was kind of my goal to begin with," Nick snorted.

"I know…I know…but your testimony was going to support the evidence we had. That's all. Now…" Cavanaugh sighed. "Now your testimony _is_ the evidence. It's all we have left."

Nick's eyes flitted between the man and Catherine. "Great."

"It's going to be okay." The D.A. tried to sound more confident than he felt. "Your testimony is first hand. It's drama and it's close up and personal. The jury will eat it up. And they'll believe you. It will work."

"C'mon, Nick…you'll do fine." Catherine put a hand on his arm. She looked at the D.A. "Is Crane going to testify?"

"Don't know yet." He looked at his watch. "We'd better get in there. You're up."

* * *

"Ms. Willows..." Defense Attorney Sharon Forte began as she stood in front of Catherine who was sitting in the witness box awaiting the cross-examination. "Let's talk about the night Jane Galloway was murdered. You testified that you and your colleague...Mr. Grissom...were the CSIs assigned to investigate and arrived after the police had broken the door in, is that correct?" When Catherine acknowledged that it was, the woman continued. "What brought you and the police to the house in the first place?"

"A neighbor had called the police when she heard Jane's dog yelping. When the police got there and couldn't get a response, they broke the door in and found the body."

"What about the dog?"

"We didn't find it, although there was paraphernalia that indicated that a dog lived there," Catherine answered. "But we didn't find one in the house or any evidence of a dog being injured or killed there...no extra blood or anything like that."

"I see." Forte pursed her lips. "Now...you also testified that you found a plastic grocery bag under the bed in Ms. Galloway's bedroom and that testing revealed what some might think looks like a face on the bag. Was that impression on the inside of the bag or the outside?"

Catherine looked momentarily confused. "On the inside...which is why we decided that's how she died."

"Well...looking at this photo..." The defense attorney indicated toward the easel displaying the evidence photographs. "I suppose it's possible one could see a facial impression on this bag. But then...some people see the Virgin Mary on their toast."

A few members of the jury stifled snickers, while several people in the courtroom gallery laughed out loud causing the judge to ask for quiet.

"Was there anything else inside of the bag?" asked Forte. "Any skin cells? Any residue from makeup? Or oil from her skin?"

"No."

"And were there any fingerprints on the bag? Inside or out?"

Catherine tried to keep from sighing. She did not like where this was going. "There were no clear prints...just some smudges on the handles."

"You said that the coroner determined that the cause of death was asphyxiation but that there were no obvious signs of trauma. Can you explain that please?"

"She died from a lack of oxygen, but there were no signs of strangulation…no marks on her neck from hands or a rope…no bruising around her mouth from anything that might have been placed over it."

"So…" The defense attorney approached the stand. "Other than a plastic bag in the vicinity of the murder and the fact that the victim asphyxiated...there really is no way to prove exactly what _caused_ her death, is there?"

This time it was Catherine who pursed her lips, biting back a sarcastic reply. But she answered calmly, "No."

"There is no way to prove that Mr. Crane did anything to cause her death, is there?"

"There was other evidence implicating him. The holes in the ceiling...the surveillance equipment in the attic..."

Forte nodded. "Yes, the equipment in the attic. And how was that tied to Mr. Crane? You had receipts from where he purchased it? Or his name was on it?"

"No."

"Surely then you found his fingerprints on it?"

Catherine looked at the woman and happened to catch a glimpse of Nick behind her in the gallery. He looked wounded...smaller...like he was shrinking with every question the defense asked. She silently apologized to him with her eyes.

"Ms. Willows? Answer the question please," Judge Perry instructed.

"No. There were no fingerprints on the equipment."

"Were there any on this window in the attic that you say someone used to come in and out of the house? Or on any of the doors or windows in the house?" asked Forte.

"There were not. At least nothing we could identify. There were a mixture of partial prints and smudges on several surfaces in the house, but...nothing we could identify," she repeated.

"Well...those were probably from all of the _other_ workers you said had been in the house recently, correct? And possibly the killer's prints were in there as well. But there were no identifiable, clear prints that belonged to Mr. Crane, were there?"

"That's what said," Catherine answered evenly.

Forte gave her a small smile. "Just making sure. And...you mentioned holes bored into the ceiling of several rooms in the house. Did you find those the night of the murder?"

"No, we didn't notice them. We found them later when we went into the attic."

"Why did you go back to the house?"

_Crap._ Catherine cleared her throat. "We were acting on a tip from a source." _Might as well say it...she's going to ask anyway._ "Morris Pearson approached us with information about the case."

Now the defense attorney offered up a large smile and glanced toward the jury before continuing her questioning. "Morris Pearson...our other victim. Our psychic. What kind of information did he provide that led you back to the house?"

"He said..." she cleared her throat again. _Damn it...Grissom should have to testify to this, not me. He's the one that followed up on the lead. Him and Brass. Shit. Better at least try to sound confident._ "He said he had had visions...of the murder. They weren't exactly clear, but at the house they panned out. They led us to the attic access in the closet and subsequently to the equipment up there and the holes in the ceiling. He even knew about her dog, and that was a detail that hadn't been released."

Forte nodded. "Interesting. So...this man just shows up, says he's had 'visions', knows details about the murder that hadn't been released, and leads you to the hidden evidence in the house _and_ the holes in the ceiling?" She laughed. "That doesn't sound like a psychic to me. It sounds like a suspect. He had all of those details...was he even ever _considered_ a suspect? Was he held? Questioned?"

"No, he was not." _No need to elaborate. She wants it? Let her come and get it._

"You suspected Ms. Galloway was being stalked, did you not?"

"Yes," Catherine answered. "Of course. With the peepholes and..."

"Isn't it true, Ms. Willows, that the night of the murder Jane Galloway checked herself into the Monaco Hotel. And that same night Mr. Pearson also checked into the hotel…into the room next to Ms. Galloway's. Phone records indicate that he called her room twice that night as well, and when she checked out the same night, he checked out shortly after her."

"That's correct."

"That sounds like stalking to me," Forte said. "I see no evidence presented to say that he knew Ms. Galloway or had ever been in her house legitimately, yet he checked into the hotel room next to her and called her, he gave you details about the murder and directed you to the additional evidence in the house…and he wasn't considered a _suspect_? And Mr. Crane is being blamed for this even though there is no evidence to suggest that he was _ever_ in that house except for when he installed her cable. Can you explain that to me?"

"Objection!" Cavanaugh stood up. "Your Honor, she is badgering the witness."

"She's questioning her, Counsel," answered Perry.

"She's asking her to determine whether evidence was sufficient to charge a suspect. That's my decision. It's not up to a CSI."

"Your Honor," Forte addressed the judge, "I'm not asking if she made the decision. I'm simply asking if she knows why the decision was made."

"I'll allow it," said Perry. "Mr. Cavanaugh, you can clarify on redirect."

The D.A. sat down hard in his chair, frustrated. He had known this wasn't going to be an easy trial, but he had not expected the defense to take this route with it.

Forte addressed Catherine again. "Ms. Willows? Answer the question, please. Do you know why Mr. Pearson was not charged or even considered a suspect?"

"I don't," she answered sharply. "You'd have to ask the D.A. that."

The woman smiled and cast a glance at the prosecution's table. "I just might do that. Now...just one other thing. Are you familiar with an Adam Piorio? And if so, please tell the court who he is."

"Yes. He was Jane Galloway's boyfriend."

"Was he brought in for questioning about the murder?"

"He was," answered Catherine. "But he had a valid alibi."

"The defense does not dispute his alibi for the killing, however isn't it true that Ms. Gallaway had a restraining order against Mr. Piorio?"

"She had a TRO...a Temporary Restraining Order."

"Hmmm..." Forte sniffed. "Sounds like she was afraid of him. Phone records indicate that he called her thirteen times the day of the murder. That sounds a bit like a stalker, doesn't it?"

"It does, which is _why_ we brought him in for questioning. But as I said, he had an airtight alibi for the murder." Catherine could feel herself getting angrier and hoped this would be over soon before she said something she was going to regret.

"For the murder, yes. But if Mr. Piorio was indeed stalking Ms. Galloway, perhaps the equipment in the attic was his...and the peepholes his handiwork."

"Is that a question?"

"I'm asking you, in your professional opinion as a seasoned Crime Scene Investigator, if it's possible that Mr. Piorio could have been the one watching Jane in her home."

"It's possible," Catherine snapped. "A lot of things are possible."

"He came to her home, didn't he? The night of the murder? Despite the restraining order?

"Yes, he did. She wouldn't let him in…he said they argued, and he left. He got into a bar fight later…wasn't anywhere near the house at the time of the murder."

"Thank you, Ms. Willows. I have no further questions." Forte went back to the defense table and sat down next to Crane, putting a hand on his shoulder as she did so.

Nick watched the woman, still in disbelief at the route she had taken in trying to defend her client. He saw her as she placed her hand on Crane's shoulder in a comforting type of gesture. Crane turned his head slightly toward her as she did so, but his eyes slid past her and met Nick's briefly, a hint of a smile crossing his face before he turned forward again. A chill ran up Nick's spine and he involuntarily shuddered.

"Nick?"

He jumped and looked up to find Catherine standing in front of him. "What?"

"I asked if you were all right?" She looked worried.

"Yeah...yeah..." He noticed that the courtroom had mostly cleared out. "We're on break?"

"Yeahhhh...for lunch. Didn't you hear the judge?"

He ignored the question as the D.A. joined them. Nick stood up. "So what the hell was that all about? We lost most of our evidence and now she's ripping Catherine to shreds up there."

Cavanaugh looked around them. Although the room was nearly empty, he still hissed under his breath, "Watch what you say out here."

"Why? It's obvious to anyone who saw that whole charade!"

"Come on, let's go to the conference room where we can talk."

Nick gave the man a hard stare as he walked away, but he followed him after Catherine nudged him. Once inside the room, the others sat down but Nick remained standing, pacing back and forth. Before anyone else had a chance to say anything, Nick burst out, "How are you going to fix this?! _How_ are you going to explain why Pearson wasn't considered a suspect and Crane was when all of the evidence so far points to Pearson? Or the boyfriend? Jesus, Scott, after hearing all of that…hell, even _I'm_ not sure Crane did it!"

"C'mon, Nick, take it easy." Catherine tried to settle him down. "I'm sure Scott can clarify things during his redirect. Right?" She looked questioningly at the D.A.

He sighed. "I'm not going to redirect."

Her mouth fell open with no words, but Nick had plenty to say. "I knew it. We're screwed, aren't we? He's gonna walk. That guy's gonna walk, and we...I...what the fuck are we going to do?!"

"Nick, please calm down," Catherine pleaded. "Sit down here and let's just see if we can figure this out. Okay? Please?"

He looked at her and then at the D.A. and finally reluctantly took a seat at the table. "Okay…I'm calmed down...now what?"

"Look," said Cavanaugh, "I've said it all along...Nick's testimony is going to be key. It's going to be even more important now that we lost some of our evidence and that we know the defense's plan. But...we may have to be willing to let the conviction on Jane's murder go and concentrate on putting him away for killing Pearson."

"Great." Nick threw his hands up. "We're just giving up then?"

"No...you're still going to tell them everything Crane said to you about Jane...we'll rely on that. But you actually _saw_ Pearson's murder. And you're going to be a great witness, Nick. You'll tell them everything he did and said and they're going to believe you."

"What about what happened at Crane's house?" asked Catherine. "Can we still use that...how he attacked Nick? Or is that thrown out too?"

"Yeah...yeah, we can. In fact I'm going to put CSI Brown on the stand next to testify about that."

"Next?" Nick was surprised. "I thought he was coming up after me to talk about Pearson's death."

"Change of plans. The way things are going, I want to end with you. I want the last thing the jury hears to be your testimony about that night. It's going to be the most effective part of the trial. We have to end with that." Cavanaugh stood up. "I'll give Brown a call and get him over here. See you after lunch."

* * *

**How was that for a quicker update? :-) Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a little comment at the bottom of this page and let me know what you think. I would really appreciate the feedback! Special thanks to all of the new readers, followers, commenters that the story has picked up recently. I'm happy you found it and I hope you like it!**


	13. Chapter 13

_"Change of plans. The way things are going, I want to end with you. I want the last thing the jury hears to be your testimony about that night. It's going to be the most effective part of the trial. We have to end with that." Cavanaugh stood up. "I'll give Brown a call and get him over here. See you after lunch."_

* * *

Warrick Brown had not expected to be called into court this early. In fact, he wondered why he needed to testify at all. The truth was, he had gone to Nigel Crane's house with Nick and the next thing he knew he was following an ambulance to the hospital. He had heard some rumblings about how the first day in court went, but nothing specific, so he had no idea what he was in for...but he was about to find out.

After being sworn in, he sat down in the witness chair and got his first look at the courtroom from the front. Catherine had gone home to get some sleep before she went back to work that night, so Nick sat alone in first row of the gallery. Warrick caught his eye briefly and gave him a small nod.

District Attorney Scott Cavanaugh approached the stand. "Mr. Brown, could you please tell the court to what extent you were involved in the investigation of Jane Galloway's murder?"

Warrick leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. "I was not a part of the initial investigation. I was never in her house. But I did lab work on some of the evidence."

"And what evidence was that?"

"It first appeared to be a stray hair, but analysis showed it was a piece of fiberglass insulation."

Cavanaugh nodded. "Insulation...like one would find in the attic of a home?"

"Correct."

"Where was this found?"

"On Jane's bed," answered Warrick.

"Did you analyze any other evidence or participate in the investigation in any other way?" asked the D.A.

"That was all of the evidence I was in charge of, but I did go out on the interviews with the workers that had been in her house."

"Tell me about that."

"I went with another CSI, Nick Stokes, to talk to the Luna Cable guy." Warrick nodded toward Crane. "Nigel Crane. We went to his house. His work van was in the driveway, but no one answered when we knocked on the door. In fact, the door was open a little bit and we could see inside. We called out, but there was no answer."

"So then what did you do?"

"We started to go inside...calling out to him and identifying ourselves...said we just wanted to ask a few questions. But my cell phone rang then and I went back out on the step to take the call."

Cavanaugh paced in front of the stand. "Now, you say you went back out onto the step. Could you please describe the location of Mr. Crane's apartment?"

"It was on the second floor. There were steps leading up to the front door."

"Okay, so you went back outside and your partner, CSI Stokes, went into the house looking for Mr. Crane to question him. What happened next?"

Warrick's green eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear as he remembered. "Nick...CSI Stokes...came flying out of the second story window..._through_ it...glass breaking and everything...and then he was on the ground...not moving. I drew my weapon and ran into the house...but I couldn't find him. He was gone."

"Crane?"

"Yeah...at the time I thought he must have slipped out the back, but later I realized he must have gone up into his attic."

"Objection," Defense Attorney Sharon Forte said from her place at the defense table, barely looking up from the notes she was taking. "There is no evidence to suggest that Mr. Crane went into his attic to hide from the CSIs."

Judge Perry agreed. "Sustained."

Cavanaugh sighed. "So you didn't see Crane or anyone else in the house. What did you see there?"

"Objection!" This time she did call it out loudly. "Your Honor, may we approach the bench?" The judge allowed it and she and the D.A. stood to the side in conference. "Again, they were in the house _illegally_. Whatever they saw in there is not admissible."

"We aren't presenting evidence," Cavanaugh whispered insistently. "Illegal entry or not, whatever was seen or happened there can be introduced. He's corroborating what CSI Stokes will later testify to happening to him in the house."

The judge wrinkled his brow as he considered both sides. "I'll allow what's been said so far. And Mr. Stokes can testify later as to what happened in the house. But I think you've covered all of your bases with this witness, Scott. Don't push it."

Despite the judge's warning, after the attorneys left the bench, the D.A. had one more question for Warrick. "Mr. Brown, after you abandoned the search for the suspect, what did you do?"

Warrick involuntarily winced at the words "abandoned the search". _That wasn't all I abandoned._ He cleared his throat. "I went back outside and called for help...backup and medical assistance...and I went to check on Nick. The EMTs came, and I got in my car and followed them to the hospital."

Cavanaugh nodded. "No further questions." As he sat back down, Forte stood up and approached the stand.

"Mr. Brown, you testified that you and CSI Stokes knocked on Mr. Crane's door but there was no answer. The door was 'open a little bit', according to you. What was it that made you decide to go ahead and enter the home?"

"We didn't really decide." Warrick shrugged. "It swung open when we knocked, and we were just calling for him to see if he was there. We started walking in because...well, an open door and no one answering usually means trouble."

"Really?" She laughed a little. "I sometimes leave my door open when I run out to get the mail or take the garbage out. That's not an open invitation for the police to come inside my house."

"We didn't see him at the mailbox," he replied coolly. "Or by the garbage."

"Well perhaps he went next door for a minute...or just didn't get it closed properly when he came in and then simply didn't hear you calling out to him. Still not a reason to enter his house."

Warrick tried to hold his temper as he began to realize why things may not have gone so well at the trial the day before. "An open door in a murder investigation...no one responding to our calls...in our line of work that's usually a sign of trouble."

Forte nodded. "Did you hear anyone screaming? A struggle? Did the door appear to have been tampered with or broken in?"

"No." He sighed.

"Okay, but you entered the house anyway. Then you left to take a call, but your partner...CSI Stokes...he continued into the house, and then next thing you knew he came flying out of the second story window. You went back inside to see what had happened...to try to find out who else was involved in the altercation...and found no one, correct?" When Warrick agreed, she asked, "What makes you say Mr. Crane assaulted your partner?"

"Nick said that's who it was."

"But you didn't see him? You never _saw_ Mr. Crane assault your friend...you never saw him in the house at _all_, did you?"

"That's who he said it was," Warrick replied evenly. "Why would he make that up?"

"Well," the defense attorney sniffed, "That's an interesting question. I'll talk to him about that later when he testifies. But for now...you can't testify to something you didn't _see_, Mr. Brown."

"Objection!" Cavanaugh stood up. "He testified to what he was _told_, Your Honor."

"Sustained," said Perry. "Ms. Forte, I'll decide what's allowable and what isn't."

Impervious, the woman addressed Warrick again. "Let's assume that it _was_ Mr. Crane then. Isn't it possible that, unaware that anyone had entered his house without his knowledge or permission, Mr. Crane might have suddenly seen someone and, thinking it was an intruder, tried to defend himself? Is that a possibility, Mr. Brown?"

"Doubtful," Warrick sneered.

"I would say that it is quite possible given the circumstances and lack of evidence. No further questions." She made her way back to the defense table.

"Mr. Cavanaugh?" asked the judge. "Would you like to re-direct?"

"No, Your Honor."

"Mr. Brown, you may step down. Ladies and gentlemen, we will stop here for the day. Court will reconvene at nine tomorrow morning."

Warrick waited a moment and watched as the jury filed out and Crane was led away. He stood up and left the stand as the courtroom cleared out. Nearly everyone had left before he sought out Nick and saw him talking to the D.A. They shook hands before Cavanaugh walked away, leaving Nick standing alone in the first row of the seating area. Warrick made his way over to him. "Hey, man...sorry I didn't get to talk to you before court started."

Nick looked distracted, scanning the room before turning to his friend. "No problem. Thanks for..." His eyes wandered to the front of the courtroom as his voice trailed off.

"Yeah...yeah...I'm uh...sorry about that. I didn't really know what to expect. That defense attorney...man, she's a real..."

"Piece of work?"

Warrick laughed. "Well, I was gonna say bitch, but yeah...that works too." He looked at his watch. "Hey, you want to catch an early dinner before I have to go in? I got a couple of hours yet."

Nick appeared to consider it and then declined.

"How about a beer then?" Warrick grinned.

His friend relented, laughing. "Okay…you're on."

* * *

"I don't know, man." Sitting at the end of the bar in a small pub near the lab, Nick took a long swig from his bottle before continuing. "This whole thing doesn't feel right. Never has."

"Look, we're gonna get him," Warrick answered. "Once you get up there and tell what happened at your house...it's over."

_"Twenty-five years to life, Nick. It's over."_

Nick shook his head quickly, shuddering slightly as Sara's words from that night came back to him.

"What's the matter?" Warrick mumbled through a mouthful of pretzels.

"Nothing. So anyway…you really think we'll get a conviction?"

"Sure we will."

Nick looked doubtful. "Even…even with…I mean, didn't you hear her tear apart everything you said? And it was even worse with Catherine. She made it sound like we fucked up the whole investigation…made us sound like a bunch of idiots."

"Yeah, well…juries aren't that stupid. They know the defense will try anything to get their client off. And they trust the cops."

"Not all of them."

Warrick laughed. "That's true." Then he grew more serious as he leaned in closer to Nick. "Listen, man…that stuff about…what happened at his place…how I didn't even see him. I'm sorry about that." When Nick tried to brush it off, he insisted, "I'm serious. I shouldn't have left you alone in there."

"You're not my mom, man."

"No." Warrick looked him in the eye. "I'm your partner, and I'm supposed to have your back. He wouldn't have…if we'd both been in there he wouldn't have come out…he wouldn't have tried anything…done anything." He looked down at the table, watching his hand as it played with the coaster under his beer bottle.

Nick looked down too. "Maybe I shouldn't have gone in there by myself…should have waited for you. Wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't yours either," Warrick countered. "I should have kept looking for him. I could have gotten him. Then he wouldn't have come to your house…things wouldn't have ended up like this."

"He'd already been to my house," Nick reminded him grimly.

"You know what I mean. Pearson getting killed…and that little prick…Jesus, Nick, he could have…"

"You're gonna be late." Nick stood up and threw a ten dollar bill onto the bar. "And I need some sleep." He looked at Warrick who was staring up at him from his bar stool after Nick had interrupted him. "You comin'?"

"Yeah…sure. You're right. It's getting late." He added a ten to the one Nick had put down and followed him outside. The two men stood on the sidewalk for a moment in awkward silence before Warrick asked, "You all right?"

Nick looked up at him. "Huh? Oh yeah…sure…sure. Hey, uh…thanks for hanging out, you know? Things have been kind of crazy lately with me bein' stuck in the lab and then court and everything, so…it was good to hang out."

"Yeah…it was." Warrick nodded. "So what's next? The trial, I mean. I'm done up there."

"Me. I'm next."

"Yeah?"

Nick took a deep breath and let it out, putting his hands in his pockets and looking up the street. "Yeah. First thing in the morning."

"You'll do good," Warrick tried to reassure him, but Nick still looked hesitant and doubtful. "Hey…that defense attorney lady…she won't know what hit her." He grinned.

Nick looked back at him and laughed a little. "You think?"

"Yeah…it's gonna be okay."

* * *

**This one is a little shorter, but you know what's coming next so hang on! Thank you to everyone who is reading, and a special shout out to the "guest" reviewers. Since you aren't logged in I can't reply personally, so here's a big thank you for your support! I do appreciate all who take the time to read and especially when you leave a little feedback, so please drop a line below and let me know how you think it's going so far. Thanks again! Be back soon with the next chapter! :-)**


	14. Chapter 14

Nick leaned over the sink and examined his face in the mirror. He turned his head to the side and felt the smooth skin on his cheek where he had just finished shaving. He straightened up and leaned in closer, looking at his eyes. _Not too bad_, he thought, but a second splash of cold water couldn't hurt, so that's what he did. He looked again, water droplets dripping down his face, his eyes red...tired. But that was to be expected after his second night in a row of not sleeping through the night. Or was it the third? Didn't really matter, he supposed. He grabbed a towel off of the rack behind him and blotted his face dry, then threw the towel into the hamper in the corner and left the room.

In his bedroom, he looked at the set of clothes laid out neatly on the bed and sighed. He had been wearing a shirt and tie to court every day so far, but today he was adding a jacket...a full suit right down to the shiny black shoes. He put the clothes on and put the tie around his neck but opted to leave it undone for now. He also threw the jacket over his shoulder as he left instead of putting it on. He was already feeling warm. No sense getting stuffed into the suit and being all hot and uncomfortable before he had to be. He wiped the sweat from his brow and just hoped he wouldn't pass out later on the stand.

* * *

It was 8:15 in the morning when Nick arrived at the courthouse. District Attorney Scott Cavanaugh had asked him to come in early to be prepped for his testimony. They met in the prosecution's conference room. Nick sat leaned back in a chair, his hand on a water bottle that he kept picking up a little and then letting drop back onto the table. "I've done this before, you know. A couple of hundred times."

"Yes..." Cavanaugh sat across from him, nodding. "But not for your own case. This is different, Nick. It's personal. It's going to get emotional."

"I'm not going to get emotional," he protested. Hearing an almost whine to his voice, he cringed, proving the D.A.'s point. "I'll be all right," he stated, trying to sound more certain.

"Look...emotional is okay. It's good. It gets to the jury...makes them empathize with you. So don't worry about it. Don't try to change who you really are up there. You're a likable guy, Nick. You just get up there and be yourself...and everything will work out."

"Yeah...we'll see." Nick was not impressed with the pep talk.

Cavanaugh decided to get down to business then. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'll be questioning you about the incident at Crane's apartment first, since you didn't do a lot of the investigation into Jane's murder. Now listen...since she tore Brown apart up there over not actually seeing Crane attack you or seeing him in the building at all, you're going to have to convince the jury that it was him."

"And how am I going to do that?"

"You're going to tell what happened, but later...we're going to make sure the jury knows it was personal. We're going to present evidence that he was stalking you."

At that Nick suddenly sat up straight in the chair. "What? I thought we weren't going after him on the stalking. You said the murders carried more weight and we had more evidence about that."

"Apparently I was wrong," the D.A. answered grimly. "I'll be blunt, Nick. It's not going well. You can see that. Any evidence we had into Jane's murder they've thrown an enormous amount of doubt onto. Now Pearson...that's different. They're going to get an eyewitness firsthand account of that...up close and personal. That's going to carry a lot of weight, especially coming from you. But even more so if they see _why_ he was there...what his state of mind was."

"So you're adding the stalking charges?"

"No." He shook his head. "Like I said before, we want to be clean and clear and precise on the murders. We don't want the jury to have to weigh the stalking charges too. _But_...we can introduce the evidence and show why he attacked you...why he was at your house that night...and why he killed Jane and Mr. Pearson."

"Because of me?" Nick asked with a hard edge to his voice. He said it again, but this time it wasn't a question. "Because of me. You think he killed them because of me."

"Nick, c'mon, wait a minute and let's..."

"No, _you_ wait a minute. This guy is crazy. I don't care _what_ your fucking psychological tests say!" He leaned over the table, looking the D.A. in the eye as his voice got louder. "This guy is _crazy_! He's a freakin' lunatic and nothing he did makes sense! He chose people...stalked people...killed people...it didn't have anything to _do_ with me!" _Grissom said so..."I don't think it was about you, Nick." _

"Nick, I'm not blaming you. That's not where I'm going with this. But the jury needs a motive besides him just being crazy." He saw Nick considering this, calming down some, and he continued, this time more gently. "He posed her for you…like a photo from your past. He _told_ you he did it as a gift for you. He _told_ you she would have gotten between the two of you. And Pearson..."

"That's enough," Nick interrupted quietly, looking down at his hands in his lap. "That's enough."

"He's gonna walk." When Nick looked up at him, he said, "If we don't do this now...and do it right...he's gonna walk. We have to make them understand what happened. We have to make sure they believe you. I need you to get up there and be _firm_ about what happened...tell it like a police official. But I need you to be human too. You were a victim...more than once. You were hurt and you were afraid and they have to _feel_ that."

Nick shook his head. "I have to be both? All...everything? At once? How the hell am I gonna..."

"Because that's who you _are_, Nick. You're all of those things. Just get up there and be _you_."

* * *

"Nick? Nick! Hey, wait up, man!"

He turned around to find Warrick running to catch up to him as he was entering the courtroom. "What are you doing here? Didn't you just get off work?"

"Yeah." Warrick stopped to catch his breath. "Thought I was gonna be late."

"You're sitting in today?"

"Of course," he answered with a big grin. "Moral support, man."

Nick laughed, feeling a bit of the weight on his shoulders lift. "Sure you can stay awake?" he asked as they entered the room.

"Well, if not, I'm sure she'll be happy to elbow me." Warrick nodded toward the front of the room where Catherine sat looking back over her shoulder and smiling at them.

"You guys…" Nick's throat was tight with emotion. "You don't have to do that. She worked overnight too. I'll be okay."

"Hey…we want to be here," Warrick said as they slid into the row of seats next to Catherine. "Right?"

"Right!" she answered firmly. "We're off tonight. We can sleep later. Now, c'mere." She reached out to straighten Nick's tie. "Geeze…why are men the only ones who wear ties and women the only ones who know how to tie them?" She rolled her eyes.

As she finished and smoothed the tie down, he put his hand over hers and squeezed it. "Thanks, Cath," he whispered.

"Give 'em hell." She winked at him and they sat down, waiting for court to begin.

When Nigel Crane was brought into the room, Nick purposely avoided looking at him. He did not make it obvious, but he stared straight ahead. Still, out of the corner of his eye he could tell that the man was watching him as he sat down. He could see it…_feel_ it. But he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing him look back or react. In a few moments Nick would be facing him from the other way, trying to avoid looking at him. He heard his name being called out, and he stood up and proceeded to the front of the room.

He sat up straight in the witness box after being sworn in, gave his name and occupation, and waited for the D.A. to begin questioning him.

"Mr. Stokes, I'm going to begin by questioning you about the events that occurred when you and CSI Brown went to the home of Mr. Crane to question him about Jane Galloway's murder. Now we know from Mr. Brown's testimony that the door was ajar, you knocked, the door opened, you called out and received no answer...and fearing there was some sort of trouble, you entered the home. But Mr. Brown went back outside to take a phone call. Would you please tell us what happened from that point on?"

"After he left, I continued to walk in slowly...still calling out. I was going to wait for Warrick...CSI Brown...to come back in...or for Crane to answer...but I saw something on the floor and..." He stopped as Defense Attorney Sharon Forte called out an objection. _Already?_

"Overruled," said Judge Perry. "Nothing from the home has been...or will be...introduced as evidence, but he can testify to what he saw there."

"Thank you, Your Honor," said Cavanaugh. "Mr. Stokes, what did you see that made you go farther into the home?"

"There was something red on the floor...drops...just inside the kitchen on the floor."

"Did that raise concern for you? Cause you to continue farther into the house to investigate?"

"Yes. It looked like it could have been blood...or hair dye," answered Nick.

"Hair dye? Like what was found at Jane Galloway's murder scene?"

"Yes."

"Go on."

Nick continued, "I put on a pair of gloves and went into the kitchen. The drops ended by a lower cabinet. I crouched down by it and opened it." He paused, waiting for the objection that never came. With the judge ruling that they had entered the house illegally, now he almost felt like he was being viewed as a criminal...that he'd done something wrong. He went on, "There was like a bin in there…it rolled out…had some cans, newspapers, a towel…stuff like that in it. I moved the stuff around and saw some gloves in there...stained with what looked like red dye."

"What kind of gloves?"

"They appeared to be Latex."

"Okay." Cavanaugh cast a glance toward the defense table before looking back at Nick. "What happened next?"

"I reached in and picked one up to look at it, and the next thing I knew somebody was standing right next to me. It startled me...I looked up…and right then, before I had a chance to do anything, he grabbed me."

"Who grabbed you?"

Nick nodded toward Crane and answered, "Him. Nigel Crane."

"Did you know at the time that's who he was?"

He shook his head. "I didn't have time to even think. I was still crouched down, and by the time I realized he was there he'd grabbed me by my jacket and knocked me off balance. He pulled me up and kind of pushed…pulled…me out of the kitchen and into the front room, and we were struggling, but...I was still kind of turned around and disoriented. We were basically just plowing through the front room. There wasn't any furniture or anything in there. And…it just happened so fast…all of a sudden I'm busting through the window."

"Out the second story window?"

"Yeah." Nick narrowed his eyes and looked toward Crane, finding him staring directly back at him. He turned back to Cavanaugh. "I just remember falling…and the sound of glass breaking. Then…nothing. I woke up in the hospital."

Cavanaugh asked, "What sort of injuries did you suffer from this attack and fall, Mr. Stokes?"

Nick sighed and ticked them off, one by one. "A concussion, a sprained wrist, cracked ribs, and a bunch of scratches and cuts from the glass…had some stitches in my forehead."

"So that was a pretty serious fall. Did Mr. Crane say anything to you as this attack transpired?"

"No, he didn't."

The D.A. walked over near the jury. "Okay, so…how long were you in the hospital?"

Nick wrinkled his brow, trying to remember. "About…10 hours maybe? We were at the house in the early afternoon, and it was about midnight when they let me go home."

"Did you drive yourself?"

"No. I wasn't supposed to. Wasn't supposed to go back to work for a week…take it easy…that kind of thing. Warrick and Sara took me home."

"Warrick…CSI Brown, who testified earlier, correct? And CSI Sara Sidle?" When Nick confirmed this, Cavanaugh asked Nick to tell what happened once he was back at home.

"I was just taking it easy…sitting in the living room. I wasn't feeling too good. I'd had some of the pain medication they gave me, so I was getting a little sleepy…thought about heading to bed, but then someone knocked on the door."

"What time was this?"

"About one in the morning. I asked who it was, and it was Mr. Pearson."

"Morris Pearson? The psychic?" asked Cavanaugh.

"Yeah, but I didn't know him…never met him before. He said he was working on Jane Galloway's case with my supervisor, Gil Grissom. He was saying something about having more visions. I opened the door a little, and he just kind of pushed his way in even though I was telling him to leave. I didn't know what he was talking about."

"What did he say?"

Nick cleared his throat. "He said, uh, he'd seen my address…that there was going to be some kind of trouble there. He was rambling on about people falling and stuff, and then my phone rang. It was my supervisor. He said that Crane had been in my house. I didn't really understand what he meant, but he said they were sending the police over to watch the house. When I hung up, Mr. Pearson was gone."

"He left the house?"

"No." Nick shook his head. "He just…I didn't see him anywhere. He must have walked off while I was on the phone. I got my gun…out of the drawer. I mean…I didn't know him, you know? I didn't know if he was crazy or what. I was walking through the house…looking in the rooms for him…and then I heard something. Overhead. In the attic…like…a dragging kind of sound. It was moving toward the living room. I…followed it along. I figured it was Pearson up there…doing something. I wasn't sure." He stopped speaking and looked down. He cleared his throat again and looked up. "And then…" He took a deep breath.

"And then what, Mr. Stokes?" The D.A. stepped closer. "Please tell the jury what happened next."

"The ceiling caved in…crashing…stuff falling…dust, boards, plaster…and Mr. Pearson fell out too. He was lying there on the floor in the middle of it all. He looked like he was dead. I moved to check on him, and…suddenly someone jumped down from the hole in the ceiling. I just reacted…tried to grab my gun…I had dropped it…but…he got it first."

"Who got it? Who had the gun?"

"It was him." Nick pointed to the defense table. "Nigel Crane."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it!**


	15. Chapter 15

"_And then what, Mr. Stokes?" The D.A. stepped closer. "Please tell the jury what happened next."_

"_The ceiling caved in…crashing…stuff falling…dust, boards, plaster…and Mr. Pearson fell out too. He was lying there on the floor in the middle of it all. He looked like he was dead. I moved to check on him, and…suddenly someone jumped down from the hole in the ceiling. I just reacted…tried to grab my gun…I had dropped it…but…he got it first."_

"_Who got it? Who had the gun?"_

"_It was him." Nick pointed to the defense table. "Nigel Crane."_

* * *

As it was already just past noon, District Attorney Scott Cavanaugh had asked the judge if the court could take their lunch recess at this point. Judge Perry agreed, and court was dismissed until 1:30. The purpose of this was twofold. First, the D.A. figured Nick might need a break at this time to collect himself and prepare for the next phase of questioning. And secondly, Cavanaugh knew that stopping at this point would leave the jurors curious...anxiously awaiting the rest of the story. When Nick returned to the stand, they would be focused on his every word.

* * *

"You need to eat something, Nick." Catherine sat across from him next to Warrick in a booth at the cafe across the street from the courthouse.

"Yeah, man..." Warrick said as he shook the salt shaker over his fries. "You don't want to faint up there or somethin'."

Annoyed, Nick answered, "I'm not gonna faint. And I had something this morning. I'm fine."

"Have some of mine," Catherine offered him part of her sandwich. "It's too big for me to finish anyway." He shook his head, and she sighed and scowled at him.

Warrick decided to change the subject, not wanting to push too hard and make Nick upset. "So...how you doin' up there? Is lookin' at Crane freakin' you out?"

"Not really. Not yet. Well...I looked over there once and he was staring at me, but...I don't know. I haven't been paying attention to him...trying to avoid that."

"He's all fancied up, isn't he? Trying to look respectable...got them nice pants on and a shirt and tie." Warrick shook his head. "Hate to say it, but half the battle is _looking_ good to the jury. Put a tie on somebody, they think he's an okay guy...smart...professional...tellin' the truth..."

"Good thing I'm wearing a tie then, huh?" Nick smiled halfheartedly.

Warrick chuckled and then said seriously. "No…really, man…you're doin' good."

Nick wasn't so sure about that, but he was glad to know that at least he gave that impression to the people watching the testimony from the gallery. "Thanks," he uttered. "I'm just ready to get it over with." He put his hand to his forehead and rubbed it with his fingers.

"Got a headache?" Warrick asked.

"Maybe a little." Nick squeezed his eyes shut as he continued to massage his forehead.

"You need to _eat_." Catherine took the plate out from under her unused coffee cup and then cut off a large portion of the sandwich she was eating and put it on the plate. She pushed it in front of him. "C'mon…it's chicken salad…good for you." When he wrinkled his nose up at her, she insisted, "_Eat_ it!"

Tentatively he took a small bite. It wouldn't have been his first choice even if he _had_ felt like eating, but he had to admit that his headache and his growling stomach probably were related. It might help, and besides that he knew from the look she was giving him that he wasn't getting out of there until he did as she asked. And so he relented, and the three of them spent the rest of the lunch break talking about everything except the trial.

* * *

D.A. Cavanaugh approached the stand. "Mr. Stokes, when we left off this morning you had just finished testifying that after being attacked earlier in the day by Mr. Crane at his home, you arrived at your own house...late at night, injured, and Morris Pearson showed up at your door. When you took a phone call, he disappeared. You then obtained your weapon and subsequently Mr. Pearson came crashing through your living room ceiling, followed by Mr. Crane and that Mr. Crane grabbed your gun off the floor. Would you please continue and tell us what happened next?"

Nick's stomach was turning. _Damn you, Catherine._ "Okay...well...he had my gun and...he said I should be careful who I let in...said Pearson was snooping around. The first thing I noticed about him was that he was wearing my clothes. I'd noticed things missing recently, and I'd go to pick stuff up at the cleaners and they wouldn't have it...said I'd already picked it up." He looked at the D.A. "He told me...there in my living room...that he'd picked them up for me. Anyway, he went to the front door and locked it...closed the blinds...I told him the police were on their way and he said he knew...said he'd _heard_ that. I was trying not to freak out, but...he had my gun and was saying all these weird things...I asked him how we met, and he got all offended...like I should have known who he was...said he installed my cable and we talked and got along and made friends."

"Is that how _you_ remember your first meeting with him?" asked Cavanaugh.

"No. I barely remembered it, even after he told me." He couldn't stop himself at that point from looking to see Crane's reaction. He saw him quickly go from a stoic stare to almost opening his mouth in disbelief and then pressing his lips together firmly in anger. Nick felt a small bit of satisfaction at that. "He said he watches people...observes them...and I asked him then if he meant like he watched Jane Galloway." He questioned Cavanaugh with his eyes to see if he should go on, and the D.A. nodded. "He said it wouldn't have worked out with Jane…that she had a boyfriend, and she would have gotten between us."

"Gotten between you and him? What did he mean by that?"

"I guess…like our friendship. He said when he met me it was like he knew me all his life. He said I should…uh…" Nick cleared his throat. "He said I should consider it a gift." He shuddered slightly at the memory.

"Consider what a gift? Murdering Ms. Galloway?"

"Yeah, he uh…he said he 'fixed' her hair…dyed it red…because he knows I like redheads. He said he wanted her to look like this girl I used to know…said her name…he posed Jane to look like a picture of this girl."

"Now, how would he know that? You had not met Mr. Crane before or spent any time with him...except for the time he spent at your house doing the cable install...is that right?" the D.A. asked.

"Right. The picture was on my computer...in my email. Our lab analyzed it and said the email had been opened the night Jane was murdered…a few hours before. It wasn't me. I was out on a case. But…someone read it and then made it look like it was unopened, so when I got on my computer later it looked like it was unread. He must have gotten in there somehow. And then…he told me I mentioned this girl's name...in my sleep. If that's true...if he heard that...then he must have been in my house...watching me...or whatever."

Nick might have been trying to downplay the implication of the testimony he was now giving, but Cavanaugh couldn't let that happen. "So Mr. Crane stole your clothes from the dry cleaners, had at some point been watching you while you slept, killed Jane Galloway so she wouldn't get in the way of your friendship, and dyed her hair and posed her like an old friend of yours...as a _gift_? It sounds like he was obsessed with you. Do you think that's why he killed Morris Pearson as well?"

"Objection." Again, the defense attorney expressed her objection without much zeal, almost as if she was bored by the proceedings. "There has been no evidence or testimony introduced to implicate Mr. Crane in Mr. Pearson's murder."

Judge Perry agreed. "Sustained."

Cavanaugh changed tactics. "Mr. Stokes, did Mr. Crane say he killed Mr. Pearson?"

Nick looked down and shook his head a little, uttering, "No," almost the way he had done while Nigel Crane had stood over him, demanding to know if he was humoring him.

"Your Honor!" This time Forte did call out loudly. "We were unable to hear his answer. Would you please ask the witness to speak up?"

"Mr. Stokes," said Perry, "would you please repeat your answer?"

He glanced at the defense table and saw Forte and Crane with their heads together, whispering. The woman turned slightly toward the front, saw him looking, and gave him a smile. Nick gave her a steely stare in response and then answered loudly, "No."

Cavanaugh looked from Nick to the defense table and back again. "But Mr. Pearson was lying dead on your living room floor, having fallen through the ceiling, followed by Mr. Crane, correct?" Nick agreed, and the D.A. asked, "Did Mr. Crane say anything at all about Mr. Pearson?"

"Um...not after he was dead...not about him personally. Earlier he said he was snooping around, but after he was dead he just acted like it was a body. He asked if I wanted to...open him up." He involuntarily gagged a little and hoped it wasn't noticeable._ I swear to God_ _I'm not eating a damned thing tomorrow if I have to come back up here. _

The D.A. grimaced, making sure the jury saw him. "Open him up? You mean like...an autopsy?"

"Yeah...I guess. I told him that wasn't my job. He got kind of ticked...he thought..."

_Are you humoring me, Nick?_

"Mr. Stokes? Nick?"

Nick looked up and shook his head a little. "I...I'm sorry. What was the question?"

"I said, what was Mr. Crane upset about?" Cavanaugh asked again, this time with a look of concern on his face.

"He uh...he thought I was humoring him. And then he started yelling at me about how we were supposed to be friends and I was always ignoring him and stuff." Nick looked up at the D.A. "That's crazy." He looked at Crane then. "He's crazy. I met the guy one time in my life and he's going off on me like I'd betrayed my best friend. And then he's...he's...standing over me...with the gun..._my_ gun...pointed at me...and he tells me to stand up and..."

"Okay...okay...let me understand this." The D.A. stopped him just to slow him down and keep him from rushing past some of the important points he wanted the jury to know. He wanted them to be able to imagine themselves in this same situation and feel what Nick had been feeling. "So Mr. Crane at first was talking like you and he were friends...like he murdered Jane so she wouldn't get between you...thought of her murder and posing as a 'gift' for you...and a minute later he's talking about opening up a body on your floor and yelling at you for not being a good friend and holding a gun on you. He ordered you at gunpoint to stand up...and then what happened?"

Nick had composed himself a little while Cavanaugh had reiterated his last bit of testimony, but his heart was pounding...his hands shaking. He had thought he was going to die that night...was sure of it. But strangely, with that gun in his face he had experienced a moment of calm. Acceptance? Resigned to his fate but still ready to fight it? He didn't know, but he didn't feel calm now. Far from it. He made it a point to not have Crane or his attorney within his field of vision as he continued telling his story. "I tried to distract him...asked him if he wanted to help me with the crime scene. But he said he was going to give me a new one."

"What did you think that meant?"

"Well...he had the gun in my face, and...I thought he was going to kill me." He took in a deep breath and let it out.

"What did Mr. Crane say at that point?"

"He asked me...he had the gun a few inches from my head...and he asked me...if I knew what a nine millimeter bullet would do to a skull at close range. I said yeah…and he started describing what it would be like…blown apart…pieces of bone and brains…" Nick couldn't stop himself this time. He visibly gagged. _Shit…no, no, no._ He had about a half a second to decide if the glass of water within his reach would help or hurt, and he took the chance, reaching for it and taking a cautionary small sip. When that didn't backfire on him, he took another drink and felt his stomach settling down some.

Cavanaugh, still concerned at how Nick seemed to be becoming more and more distressed by his testimony, waited until he set the glass back down and asked, "Mr. Stokes? Are you all right? We can take a break if you need to."

Nick's eyes flitted to the defense side of the room where Crane and his attorney sat watching, looking pleased, almost as if they were enjoying a good television show at home. _Hell no._ There was no way he was going to let them see this affect him. "No. I'm fine," he said firmly, making eye contact with Crane before looking back at the D.A.

"Can you please continue then? Mr. Crane had the gun pointed at your head, and what happened next?"

"I asked him…how he wanted this to end…and he said he wanted me to remember his name. He moved the gun up under his chin, and I went for it. We…" He took a deep breath. _Almost done._ "We were struggling over it…it went off…at least once, I know…and all of a sudden the cops were there. They broke the door in and helped me get the gun away from him. Then they took him away," he finished simply.

"Were you hurt in this altercation?"

Nick shook his head. "No. Just…scared." He looked down and his hands were still shaking. He clasped them together, trying to still them.

"I can imagine it would have been terrifying," Cavanaugh sympathized. "Now, from your testimony it sounds as though Mr. Crane murdered Jane Galloway in order to keep her from interfering with what he thought was a friendship with you, and then he murdered Morris Pearson when he thought he was 'snooping around' in your attic. But you claim that you and Mr. Crane were not friends. In fact, you had met him just the one time…when he installed your cable. Is that correct?"

Nick answered in the affirmative, even though he was not happy at the implication being made again that Crane's reason for killing had been Nick.

"You also testified that Mr. Crane had taken clothing of yours from the dry cleaners without your knowledge or permission. And that he had somehow gained access to your computer and read your email. And he mentioned hearing you say something in your sleep, which would imply that he had been in your home watching you. Was there any other evidence that Mr. Crane was stalking you as well as Jane Galloway?"

"Objection." Forte still seemed unfazed by the prosecution's tactics as she protested. "My client is not on trial for stalking nor has there been any proof presented to say that he stalked Ms. Galloway."

"I'm establishing motive, Your Honor. This witness has testified about statements Mr. Crane made regarding Ms. Galloway's murder. If the motive for that and Mr. Pearson's murder was that these people threatened the defendant's so-called friendship with the witness, then we have the right to introduce more evidence supporting that theory."

"Sustained," said the judge. "You may continue, Mr. Cavanaugh."

"Thank you, Your Honor." He turned back to Nick. "Mr. Stokes? Was there any additional evidence to suggest that Mr. Crane had been stalking you?"

"Yes." Nick looked at Crane again and thought he saw a hint of confusion and perhaps irritation. Forte was looking through her notes. Apparently she had not expected this turn of events either. He wondered if Crane had even considered that he might have found the stash in his closet. He cleared his throat. "Uh…later…there was a box in my back bedroom closet. It was full of my Christmas decorations. It was closed up, but…there was some other stuff in there…stuff that didn't belong…that I hadn't put there. Little things, you know? Just weird things that I didn't even notice missing, but…he must have been collecting them."

"I have a list here, Mr. Stokes. Would you please look it over and tell the court if this is the inventory from the box found in your closet?" Cavanaugh handed the paper to him.

Nick looked it up and down. He couldn't honestly say he was focused enough right now to notice if it was complete or accurate, but it was the one that the lab had compiled after Warrick had taken the box there for it to be analyzed. "Yes, it is."

"Would you read it out loud, please?"

_Seriously? _He felt his stomach clench again, but he fought down his nerves and tightened his grip on the paper, holding it out in front of him. "Plastic WLVU cup, toothbrush…"

"Excuse me, Mr. Stokes," the D.A. interrupted. "Would you please tell us in your own words where each item came from as you read it off?"

Nick nodded and began again. "Plastic WLVU cup…it had been in my kitchen cabinet. Toothbrush…I had thrown it out. Bottle opener…from a drawer in the kitchen. Poker chip…from a set in the living room. Open pack of gum…I don't know where it came from, but it was the kind I buy so I guess it was around the house somewhere. Grocery receipt…it was a few weeks old. Dental appointment card…probably from the desk or table. Texas flag magnet…that had been on the fridge." He paused as he considered the final item on the list.

Cavanaugh waited, and when Nick did not continue he asked, "Is that everything?" But he knew that it wasn't.

Nick raised his eyes up from the paper to look at the man. "No...uh...there's one more thing. A movie ticket stub. It had been in my wallet. That's where I stick 'em...you know, until later I'll find them in there and toss them out."

"How old was the stub?"

"It was just a few days before the murders. So...I know it was still in my wallet. Somehow...he got it out of there. He went through my wallet and _that's_ what he took? For his weird little collection?" He shook his head, still confused and in disbelief over everything that had been going on around him...in his own home...without his knowledge.

"Mr. Stokes, is the item on the list...movie ticket _stub_?"

"No," he answered quietly, and then...before anyone had the chance to tell him to do so, he repeated his answer more loudly and firmly. "It says _stubs_. There were two."

"Had you gone to the movie with anyone else?"

"No, I didn't. I went out by myself that night...I only had that one ticket in my wallet...but...the other one..." It was all coming back to him now...that day at his house with Warrick...not finding anything out of the ordinary and then the shock of finding the box with the pilfered items and the awful realization of the truth. He had been a stalking victim, the obsession of a crazy man who went so far as to creep around his house and watch him sleep as well as to follow him outside of his home. It had been too much for him then and it was almost too much for him now. Heart pounding, he got the words out. "The other ticket was the same theater...same night...same showing. It was bought just a few minutes after mine. He followed me there. He must have been...he was close enough to hear what movie I was buying a ticket for...and he bought one too and he was in there...somewhere...while I was, and then...Jesus, I don't know what he did after that...if he followed me home too and then what? I...I don't know...I don't know."

"Okay…okay." Cavanaugh walked closer to the stand. "Mr. Stokes, you're a seasoned Crime Scene Investigator. Have you seen this type of obsession before in other cases you've investigated?"

"Of course."

"And have you ever seen it lead to murder? As in…the way Mr. Crane described it? That someone might 'get in the way' of a relationship like this have to be taken care of? Gotten rid of? Murdered?"

"Yes."

The D.A. continued, "So it's fair to say…in your professional opinion…that it could be a motive for a murder? Or two?"

"Yes," Nick answered again.

"Thank you, Mr. Stokes. I have no further questions." Cavanaugh went back to his seat.

"Ms. Forte?" Judge Perry addressed the defense attorney. "It's getting late in the day. Do you want to begin your cross-examination now or would you prefer to call a recess and begin in the morning?"

The woman smiled and stood up. "Oh, I'd like to start now."

"Very well. Your witness, counsel."

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed this one! I'd like to thank everyone for reading, and especially for reviewing...your words really encourage me and keep me writing, so THANK YOU! I really appreciate it! Please drop a line and let me know what you think about this one, and I'll be working on the next chapter.**


	16. Chapter 16

_"Ms. Forte?" Judge Perry addressed the defense attorney. "It's getting late in the day. Do you want to begin your cross-examination now or would you prefer to call a recess and begin in the morning?"_

_The woman smiled and stood up. "Oh, I'd like to start now."_

_"Very well. Your witness, counsel."_

"Your Honor, may we approach the bench?" District Attorney Scott Cavanaugh asked, stopping Sharon Forte in her tracks as she made her way to the witness stand.

"At sidebar, Counsel," Judge Perry answered, and the two attorneys came forward.

Cavanaugh gave Nick a small smile of encouragement and nodded as he passed by. But once he was at the side of the judge's bench he put on his game face, prepared to do battle with the defense attorney. She disarmed him, however, by speaking first.

"Scott," she began in earnest, "if you feel your witness isn't up to continuing right now, we can wait until morning to begin." Her tone seemed sincere, but her expression betrayed her. Her lips showed just a trace of amusement, turned up at one corner while she blinked her eyes innocently.

That's exactly what he wanted to have happen, but he ignored her and addressed the judge. "Your Honor, it's getting late. There isn't a lot of time to get started right now."

"It's her option whether or not to start now, Scott. You know that."

"I do," the D.A. agreed. "But I'd like some time with my witness before the cross-examination."

"You've had your time while he was on the stand," said Forte.

He turned to her, irritated. "Yes..." then looked back at the judge."But it was very intense and emotional and I think both he and the jury could use some down time before we continue." Damn...he hated admitting in front of the defense attorney that Nick might be upset, but the judge was bound by law to be fair to all parties and consider this when deciding how and when court should proceed.

Judge Perry glanced over at Nick who was still on the stand, head lowered and watching as his hands twisted together. "He looks all right to me, but..."

"It's okay," Forte interjected, smiling. "We can wait until tomorrow, Scott. You go take care of your witness, and I'll do a little more preparation and we'll be all set to go in the morning. Okay?"

Cavanaugh had gotten what he wanted, but not in the way he had wanted it. But he forced a pleasantry. "Thank you, Sharon. Judge?"

"Very well. Return to your places, Counsel." Once they had done that, he announced to the court that they would call off for the day and reconvene in the morning. The room cleared out, and Nick left the stand and headed for the gallery.

"See you in the morning," he said in passing to the D.A. who looked surprised that he didn't have more to say but decided to let it go. Nick approached Warrick and Catherine and asked if they were ready to leave.

"Yeah." Warrick exchanged a concerned look with Catherine, but she shook her head slightly, so he did not say anything else to Nick…at least not until they were outside and Nick appeared to be heading for the parking garage without saying anything else to them. "Hey...you okay?" He hated to ask it because he knew Nick hated to hear it, but he needed to know.

Nick stopped and looked at him. "Yeah. Why?"

"_Why_?" Warrick walked toward him.

"Warrick…come on…" Catherine tried to dissuade him, touching his arm but he pulled it away as he kept walking.

"_Why_?" he repeated once he was face to face with Nick. "Because it was crazy in there. You just gonna walk away like it was nothing?"

"Yeah…I am." Nick turned to leave, but stopped when Warrick called after him.

"That's bullshit, man!"

"Look," Nick said as he walked back toward them. "I appreciate you guys coming and all…I really do. But I gotta go. Okay?" His eyes darted between the two of them.

"Nick…" It was Catherine who spoke this time, more gently than Warrick and with a look of concern that might be tinged with pity.

"Don't…Cath…" he cut her off. "I don't need it right now…people feeling sorry for me. I just gotta go. I'm sorry." He couldn't look at her anymore. He turned away, blinking back tears, and uttered again, "I'm sorry," before walking away.

* * *

The phone was ringing. _Fuck_. He had only been home an hour, although honestly he hadn't done anything so far except lie down on the couch and stare at the ceiling. He gave it a few rings, but it wouldn't stop, so he threw his arm over the coffee table and felt around until his fingers finally found the phone. "Yeah?"

"Nick? Scott Cavanaugh."

He sighed wearily and sat up on the couch. "Yeah…hi."

"Hey…hope I'm not disturbing you. It's just I didn't get a chance to talk to you after court today."

"Sure…" Nick ran a hand over his face tiredly. "What's up?"

"I know today was rough, but…tomorrow's going to be even worse."

He laughed humorlessly. "Gee…thanks."

"You need to be prepared for it," Cavanaugh said. "She's going to be gunning for you. You just have to be ready and not take it personally. I don't know exactly what she has planned, but you get the idea. She's going to twist things around and put words into your mouth."

"Can't wait."

"Listen, Nick…just answer the questions as best as you can…give me time to object if I need to…and whatever happens…whatever she implies or makes you say…just remember I get to question you again on redirect, okay? I'll straighten everything out then."

"Okay," he answered without much enthusiasm.

"It'll be okay. Trust me. Whatever happens, just get through it and we'll fix it on redirect."

"Okay, okay…I got it. Anything else?"

Cavanaugh knew things were taking a toll on the CSI. He just hoped he could make it through this next phase. "No…no, that's it. Just remember, okay?"

"I will. Thanks." Nick hung up the phone without saying goodbye and set it back on the table with a sigh. Now that he was sitting up he might as well see what was on TV…get his mind off of things. He looked around for the remote but it wasn't sitting on the right hand corner of the table closest to the couch like it usually was. Maybe he knocked it off trying to answer the phone. He leaned over and looked under the table, then leaned a little farther looking under the couch. Nothing. _Damn it._

He got down on his hands and knees on the floor and looked under the couch again then around the immediate area surrounding the coffee table. When he didn't find anything, he stood up and moved things around on the end table but the remote wasn't there either. Hands on his hips, he surveyed the room. It wasn't that big, and it's not like he ever walked around with the damned thing. He went and checked next to the TV, but again to no avail. Just in case, he also checked the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. He pushed aside the pile of mail and the car keys and then rooted through a small basket that contained note paper, pens, spare change…the remote was not there but he looked again, pulling each item out and setting it on the counter, working faster the more he pulled out, some of the items spilling onto the floor. He began searching through the pile of mail again, dropping pieces as he fumbled through it, and finally just swept the whole stack off of the counter with a furious swipe of his arm.

_It has to be here._ He went back into the living room and grabbed the coffee table, dragging it fast and hard away from the couch so he could have easier access. One by one he pulled up the couch cushions and flung them aside as he dug beneath them into the crevices of the sofa. He came away with nothing but a couple of quarters and a piece of popcorn. He threw them on the floor as well and then kicked the end of the couch. "God _damn_ it!" He went to the easy chair at the other end of the sofa and shoved it nearly halfway across the room to look underneath it. Nothing.

Exhausted from his search he dropped to the floor and crossed his legs, putting his face in his hands and panting heavily as he tried to compose himself. _This is ridiculous. This is fucking ridiculous. It's here somewhere…it's got to be. I had it last night. There's no way…no way…damn it. _He finally looked up and sighed sheepishly, embarrassed at the mess he had made but still feeling anxious about the missing item. _Fuck it._ He stood up and picked up one of the couch cushions and went to put it back in its place. As he did, his foot hit the leg of the sofa and he heard a skittering sound. He froze in place for a moment, then slowly bent down and looked underneath the couch. And there it was…about a foot from where he now stood…mere inches from where it had been all along…behind the leg of the couch. He stared at it for a moment, then straightened up, adjusted the cushion he had just replaced, and then gathered up the other two and replaced them as well. Once the sofa was back the way it should be, he lay down on it and draped his arm across his eyes.

* * *

"There he is." Warrick nodded toward the front door of the courthouse where Nick was making his way through the metal detector. He and Catherine had waited in the lobby before heading to the courtroom, but it was getting close to time for the trial to resume and they hadn't yet seen Nick. They were beginning to wonder if he was going to show up at all. "Hey, man," he greeted him as he joined them.

"Hi guys. I wasn't sure if you'd be here today."

"We were wondering the same thing about you," Warrick answered with a grin.

Nick couldn't help but smile back. "Yeah…uh…about yesterday…"

"It's okay," Catherine said. "It was a tough day for you. You had every reason to want out of here as soon as you could get out."

"Thanks." He noticed that she looked weary. "I know you were off last night, but you don't have to work tonight, do you?" When she smiled and shrugged in response, he shook his head. "C'mon…you ought to be home getting some sleep. You don't need to be here. I'll be okay."

"No way, man," Warrick laughed. "You think I'd miss this? You're gonna knock 'em dead. That lady won't know what hit her."

But Catherine looked concerned. "Nick…if you don't want us here…we understand."

"It's not that. I just don't…I appreciate it, but I don't want to put you guys out. I'll be all right…really."

"Well, I'm already awake and here so I'm stayin'." Warrick started for the elevator. He turned around. "You guys comin'?"

Nick and Catherine looked at each other, and he smiled at her and said, "Yeah…we're coming."

* * *

The courtroom was already full by the time they made their way in, but the District Attorney had reserved a seat behind him for them, so they went to the front of the gallery and sat down just seconds before court was brought to order. As expected, Nick was called to the stand right away and reminded that he was still under oath. As Defense Attorney Sharon Forte stood up from her chair to approach him, Nick glanced that way and then did a double take. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Nigel Crane who was staring straight ahead. Something was different…off. He didn't look the same. And then Nick realized what it was. Crane's thick, dark-rimmed glasses had been replaced by lighter, gold wire frames. He nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. Did they really think that was going to make him look better in the eyes of the jury? Less like a crazy man capable of murder? And then he realized…it did. But he didn't have time to think about it any further as Forte was already addressing him.

"Mr. Stokes, I'd like to begin by talking about the events that happened when you and your partner, CSI Brown, went to Mr. Crane's apartment. We've already established that you entered the home without just cause, so really…whatever happened inside is irrelevant. But since you gave such colorful testimony about your attack and since you blamed my client for it, I'm afraid we'll have to touch on a few points." She stopped pacing and faced Nick. "Prior to that day, you claim that the only time you had met Mr. Crane was when he installed your cable. In fact, you testified that on the night Morris Pearson died in your home, you had to ask Mr. Crane where you had met before…that you didn't remember him. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And yet you say that Mr. Crane is the one attacked you in his apartment. Is _that_ correct?"

Already irritated, Nick answered again with a tired "Yes." _This is gonna be one fucking long day. _

"Well…if you didn't recognize him in your own home later that night, how did you recognize him earlier in the day? Or did you? Did you _tell_ your colleagues after the attack that it was Mr. Crane who did it? Or did you…and they…_assume_ it was him?"

"Uh…" Nick looked at confused as he felt. He had expected a lot of things to happen today…a lot of questions and accusations…but this was one he was not prepared to hear. He honestly had to think about it, and even then he wasn't quite sure how to answer. "I…" He thought back on it…being taken by surprise and then the struggle. Looking at Crane now, he knew it was him. There was no doubt. But then? "It was him," he said finally. "It was Crane."

"I know you say that _now_, Mr. Stokes," Forte pressed on. "But I'm asking you…that day…after the attack but before the events at your home that night…did you _see_ the man who attacked you and did you _recognize_ him as Nigel Crane?"

"I…I guess…well there was…we knew that he…"

"_Did_ you identify him _then_?"

"No! Okay? No. I mean…we were in his house…he was a suspect…and…" he stammered.

"So you assumed it was him," she concluded. "You did not identify him or recognize him or remember him from seeing him before, did you?"

"Not at the time. No. But…"

"You did not know who your attacker was...and your partner testified that he didn't see him at _all_. So there really was no identification of Mr. Crane as your attacker. Now…let's move on. Forte began walking back and forth again in front of the witness stand. "Although it would be inadmissible anyway, I want to mention the stained gloves that you _said_ you found in a drawer inside Mr. Crane's apartment."

"Objection," the D.A. called out, although he knew it wouldn't do much good at this point. Even if the question wasn't answered, the implication was in her tone. The jury understood. She was about the say that the gloves were never found. Still, he had to keep her from saying it out loud. "If the defense is going to discuss inadmissible evidence from the scene then the prosecution would like the opportunity to do the same."

"I'll withdraw the question." She turned and looked with a small smile over her shoulder at Cavanaugh. Addressing Nick again, she asked, "So, after this attack in which you fell out of a window..."

"Pushed."

She raised her eyebrows "Excuse me?"

"Pushed," Nick repeated firmly. "I didn't fall. I was pushed."

Amused, she locked eyes with him, but his expression did not waver. "Very well. As I was saying, after this attack you were released from the hospital after about ten hours, and you testified that you were under instructions to be off work for a week and to take it easy. One of your injuries was a concussion. Did the doctors give you any instructions for how to take care of yourself specifically in relation to this injury?"

He shrugged. "Not really. Just to take it easy for awhile."

"They didn't suggest that you not be left alone for the night?"

"They said it was an option, but not required. I was doing okay. I didn't need anyone to stay with me," he answered.

"That was your opinion," she sniffed. "Isn't it true that there are sometimes complications from a concussion and it's best if a patient is kept under watch for the first day or so?"

The D.A. called out an objection. "The witness is not a medical professional."

"I'll rephrase," said Forte. "Isn't it true that you were _told_ by the doctors that there are sometimes complications from a concussion and it's best if a patient is kept under watch for the first day or so?"

"They said that...but they also said it wasn't mandatory and if I felt okay by myself then it was okay to stay by myself."

She looked skeptical. "Was there maybe a reason you wanted to be alone?"

Nick wrinkled his brow. "What? No. Why would I..."

"Did you know that Mr. Crane was coming over that night to see you?"

He had to stifle the laugh that almost came out involuntarily. The question was so absurd and unexpected that it took him by surprise. But he quickly recovered, the reality of the implication setting in, and he shook his head and answered firmly, "Of course not. He didn't 'come over'. He broke into my house and he killed Mr. Pearson and he was going to kill me. So no...no, I wasn't expecting him to 'come over' and I didn't chose to stay alone because of that."

"Okay...okay..." Forte wandered over to the jury box and then turned to face him again. "Still...it's strange, isn't it? First Mr. Pearson shows up at your door in the middle of the night raving about some visions he's had...you didn't know him, did you?"

"No."

"But you let him in your house? A stranger ranting crazily at your door in the middle of the night?"

"He said he was working on Jane Galloway's murder with my supervisor, Gil Grissom. I just opened the door a little to see what he wanted and he pushed his way in."

"And you just let him?" the defense attorney asked incredulously. "You just let a raving stranger into your house at one in the morning and didn't tell him to leave? And then he ends up dead?"

"I _did_ tell him to leave! I told him to leave and then he was saying that he'd seen my address and…and then the phone rang. I answered it and when I was done he was gone! What are you trying to say?"

Although she had gotten him riled up enough to the point where he was practically shouting at her, she remained calm. "I'm saying that even though you claim not to have known Mr. Crane and you say that he was in and out of your house without your knowledge or permission, it seems as though you aren't really opposed to letting strangers into your home."

Nick sat in stony silence. There was nothing to say. She had not asked a question. He wondered briefly if the awkward pause in the room would put more emphasis on the point she was trying to make, but decided he didn't care. The ball was in her court, and after looking at him for a moment she spoke again.

"All right, Mr. Stokes...so you answered the phone and when you hung up Mr. Pearson was nowhere to be found. You testified earlier that Mr. Pearson and Mr. Crane both came out of your ceiling...and Pearson was dead. Now…how would Mr. Pearson have gotten into your attic that quickly from the inside of your home?"

"I guess from the access panel in the spare bedroom closet."

"You guess? Is there another way to get up there from the inside of the house?"

"No." That's all she was going to get from him. It was all he could do to keep from crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Huh." She laughed a little. "Mr. Pearson certainly knew his way around your house, didn't he? He seemed to know where he was going and how to get there. If there _were_ someone stalking you like you claim…maybe it was Mr. Pearson. Just like he knew about the evidence at Ms. Galloway's house…the holes in the ceiling and everything else…it seems like he knew quite a bit about you and your house as well." When Nick didn't respond, she asked, "Does that sound like a possibility?"

There were no objections, and the judge did not intervene, so he answered, "Possible. Not likely."

She smiled. "Possible. But you never saw Mr. Crane in your house that night until he came down from the ceiling after Mr. Pearson, correct? If Pearson was indeed snooping around as you say Mr. Crane said, and if Pearson was the one stalking you and went up into your attic that night, perhaps Mr. Crane went after him to stop him. A struggle ensued and Mr. Pearson died in the process." She walked over to the defense table and picked up a file, then flipped through it as she went back to the witness stand, looking at it as she spoke. "It says here in the coroner's report that Mr. Pearson died from a broken neck." She looked up at Nick. "But the cause was inconclusive. Did you _see_ Mr. Crane assault Mr. Pearson?"

Nick swallowed hard but tried to make it unnoticeable. "No."

"The report says that the break was clean…no bruises on the neck to indicate hands around it…no twisting of the bones. It says that the break and subsequent death could have resulted from the fall itself. So…really, there is no evidence to support Mr. Crane murdering Mr. Pearson. Now…" She began pacing again. "You say that Mr. Crane was wearing your clothes that night…that he said he picked them up at the cleaners. You said that you had noticed things missing earlier…that the dry cleaners had lost some of your clothes. You implied that Mr. Crane stole them."

"He _said_ he took them from the cleaners."

"And what cleaner is that?"

"Fazio's…it's on the way home," he replied.

"And you use it all the time? You go there a lot?"

"Yes."

"So…they kept 'losing' your clothes, and yet you kept taking them back there anyway? Did you get upset with them? Try to find out what happened? Ask if someone else took them by mistake perhaps?"

Nick lowered his head, thinking. He didn't know. He didn't remember. It hadn't been important at the time…just an inconvenience. The significance of it didn't hit him until later…after he started putting the pieces together. He looked up at her. "I didn't get upset. I was frustrated…yeah…but, it happens…and I'd been going there for a long time…they're nice people…I just…thought it was one of those things."

"You've been going there a long time, so they should know who you are. Why would they hand over your stuff to a stranger? If Mr. Crane picked things up, he must have had the tickets, right?"

_Probably,_ he thought, but answered, "I don't know."

"Or…" She smiled at him and asked in a condescending tone, "…maybe you _asked_ Mr. Crane to pick them up for you?"

"Of course not," Nick replied evenly. "I didn't even know him."

"Well…you said that Mr. Crane implied he had killed Jane Galloway because he thought she might interfere in his relationship with you. If that's the motive the prosecution is going for…"

"Objection, Your Honor! The…" Cavanaugh stopped as the judge interrupted him.

"I know, Counsel, I know. Sustained. Ms. Forte, motive is up to the District Attorney to present, not the witness."

"All right, then," she conceded. "We won't discuss motive, but let's discuss the things you claim Mr. Crane said to you that night, which includes saying that he thought Ms. Galloway might get in between the two of you. You _did_ say that, didn't you, Mr. Stokes?"

"I did. It's what _he_ said," Nick answered coolly, trying to remain collected.

"Why would he say that? What kind of a relationship did you have with him?"

"I didn't _have_ a relationship with him! I didn't even know him! How many times do I have to say that?!" he shouted at her, resulting in a rustle throughout the crowded room.

The D.A. started to object but Judge Perry was already pounding his gavel and asking for order in the court. "Mr. Stokes, there's no need to yell. And Ms. Forte…I think you have your answer on this point. Please move on."

"Yes, Your Honor." She did not seem ruffled at all by the admonishment. She turned her attention again to Nick. "Mr. Stokes, you also testified that Mr. Crane said he dyed Ms. Galloway's hair red after murdering her…because he wanted it to be a 'gift' for you because he knew you liked redheads. But again…you claim you don't know how he knew that because…as you keep telling us…you didn't know him. Even more strange, however, is the fact that Jane Galloway's body had been _posed_ after her death…posed to look exactly like a photo of a friend of yours. I'd like to introduce these photos into evidence. Would you identify them please?" She took two photographs from the file she still held and placed them on the stand in front of Nick.

His heart pounding, breathing hard, he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold back his anger on the stand. He didn't want to look at the pictures. He didn't want to verify what they were. Because he knew all too well what they looked like. He lowered his eyes toward them briefly but then raised them again, aiming them directly at Cavanaugh who was sitting at the prosecution's table watching him. He stared at him for a moment before looking at the photos. He placed his finger on the first one. "This is a crime scene photo of Jane Galloway after her murder…posed over the toilet in her bathroom." He moved his finger to the other picture. "This is a photo of my high school girlfriend, Melissa Holmes…after prom. She was drunk, and…she's passed out over the toilet." He looked up at the defense attorney.

"They look very similar, don't they?"

"Yeah…they do. Because he got the photo from my email and he murdered Jane and posed her like the photo."

Forte took the photos and tacked them to the display board near the jury before speaking to him again. "You testified that the photo of your girlfriend was in an email on your computer and that you didn't open that email until after Ms. Galloway's murder. In fact, an analysis by the Crime Lab showed that in fact the email was opened at 7:54 PM that same night prior to the murder using the password. If it wasn't you, then who was it?"

"Nigel Crane," Nick said, resisting the urge to add something sarcastic. "I wasn't home. I was out on another case."

"How would he be able to get into your email? Did you give him your password?"

Seething, he calmly and deliberately answered, "No. I couldn't give him my password because I didn't _know him_."

She nodded. "Then…you had it written down near the computer? Or stored so it would auto-fill when you logged in?"

"_No_."

"Well…I don't know how Mr. Crane could possibly get into your email to find that photo unless he had your password. But you seem to be telling me there is no way he could have gotten it, so…that leads me to conclude that Mr. Crane did not, in fact, get into your email or have anything to do with posing that body like your photo. Unless…perhaps the lab found Mr. Crane's fingerprints on your computer?"

Nick looked over at the defense table and caught Crane watching him with a small smile on his face. The man ducked his head down when he saw Nick look at him, then raised it a little, lifting his eyes toward him again.

"Mr. Stokes?" inquired Forte.

He looked back at her, feeling more defeated now than angry. "No. No fingerprints."

Satisfied, she suggested smugly, "Mr. Stokes, you were the only one to open that email, weren't you? And you were the only one to see that photograph. And yet…somehow…this poor woman ended up dead and looking exactly _like_ that photograph, didn't she?"

That brought the ire back. "What the fuck are you suggesting?"

Several things happened at that point, all at once. The crowd in the gallery as well as the jury emitted a mixture of sounds…gasps, laughter, murmurs…while the D.A. called out trying to get the judge's attention as he pounded his gavel and threatened Nick with contempt, but Nick didn't hear him or anything else other than Sharon Forte who continued speaking despite everything else that was going on around them.

She raised her voice loud enough to be heard over the clamor of the courtroom. "I'm saying maybe _you're_ the one who didn't want Jane Galloway getting in the way of your relationship with Mr. Crane."

"That isn't true!"

"Mr. Stokes…have you ever been accused of murder?"

Cavanaugh continued to shout out objections and the crowd noise raised before Judge Perry's gavel finally brought everything back under control.

"Order! This court will come to order!" He slammed the gavel down two more times before he got the result he wanted. "We are going to take a break for lunch now, and I suggest that when we reconvene there be no repeat of this type of behavior on anyone's part or I _will_ hold people in contempt. Court is dismissed."

* * *

**Whew! Long chapter! Thanks for waiting for it! Special thanks to JacquiT, JennaTN, and whashaza for your continued support and comments! I think since you guys are the only ones reading maybe I'll just start emailing you the chapters instead of publishing. ;-)**


	17. Chapter 17

"_Order! This court will come to order!" He slammed the gavel down two more times before he got the result he wanted. "We are going to take a break for lunch now, and I suggest that when we reconvene there be no repeat of this type of behavior on anyone's part or I will hold people in contempt. Court is dismissed."_

Up until that moment Nick had been seething on the stand…up until Defense Attorney Sharon Forte had asked the question.

_"Have you ever been accused of murder, Mr. Stokes?"_

It had taken him off guard and felt like a knife to the gut. But his anger quickly dissipated, giving way to disbelief. Suddenly he felt more like a defendant on trial than a witness. Her question hung in the air as the judge dismissed court until after lunch. Unlike previous days, the crowd did not empty the room quickly. The uproar from moments before had them all up and talking. Several people were still hanging around the gallery when Nick got up from the stand and made his way to the prosecution's table. "What the hell was that? What _was_ that?! Is she..."

"Nick!" District Attorney Scott Cavanaugh stopped him and looked around them. The last stragglers were leaving the room but turned their eyes back as they went out the door. He leaned in close to Nick and lowered his voice despite the fact that there was no one left around except Catherine and Warrick, both looking worried. "Watch what you say in here," he warned. "Come on." He gathered up his papers and put them into his briefcase, then led them out of the courtroom and into the conference room. He closed the door and turned to face them. "Don't ever do that again. It doesn't matter if the jury's out or the defense is out...do _not_ let anyone hear you say anything unless it's under oath on the stand. Do you understand me?"

This time it was Nick who leaned in close to the man to speak, deliberately and evenly. "I am _not_ going to sit up there and let her turn this thing upside down. It's _your_ job to keep that from happening and look what she's doing. You had better have some kind of plan up your sleeve because I am _not_ going back up there and letting her accuse me of _murder_. Do _you_ understand _me_?"

"Nick, c'mon...take it easy." Warrick tried to get him to step back a little.

"Take it easy?!" Nick turned on him next. "Are you fucking kidding me? Did you hear what she asked me up there?!" Then he angrily addressed the D.A. again. "Did you know she was going to ask that? Did you?"

"Of course not."

"Do you even know what it _means_?"

"Yes, Nick, I do," Cavanaugh answered. "I do my homework. I know about your past."

"My past." Nick laughed a little. "Yeah...my _past_. It's over...done. I didn't do anything wrong and I wasn't even arrested. What's she gonna do next? Is she going to try to make it look like_ I_ did this?"

"She might, Nick, but listen...I had no idea she was going to throw that in there. She's grasping at straws...trying to put up all kinds of doubt...throw suspicion everywhere but on Crane."

"She's doing a pretty good job of it," Nick shot back.

"The jury isn't going to buy it!" The D.A. was beginning to get agitated himself. "She's got so many theories running at once that they couldn't possibly pick one and say it's true."

"She's throwing _doubt_ on the case, Scott! A hell of a lot of doubt. And when she gives her closing arguments and tells them they have to believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's guilty...there's no way they're convicting!"

"I get to talk too, Nick! I get to give my closing and tell them she's making shit up and I get to lay out our case for them again. The _facts_...the _evidence_. And they're going to convict. Look...I know it sucks up there right now, but I'm going to question you under re-direct when she's done and I'll _address_ it all. We're not just going to leave it at what she says."

"Listen to him, Nick," Catherine pleaded. "Scott's a good guy. This is what he does. He'll make it right. Okay? Just...please don't worry. It's going to be okay."

Hands on his hips, he looked at her and then at Warrick, both of them silently asking him to please trust them. He sighed heavily. "Okay. Fine. But what am I supposed to say when I get back up there and she asks me that again?"

"She might not," said Cavanaugh. "She might have done it for impact and decide to leave it hanging."

"She can't do that? Can she?" Warrick asked.

"I'll deal with it when I get up there if she does. But Nick...if she starts questioning you about that...just leave time for me to object before you answer. And if I don't...just tell the truth...and don't let her get you worked up. That won't look good."

Nick bit back a sarcastic reply and instead agreed.

* * *

Lunch was tense at best. Warrick and Catherine both knew better than to push Nick on anything with the mood he was in. So while the two of them ate their meals, Nick picked at a salad he had ordered and the conversation revolved around Lindsey's schoolwork and Warrick's pick-up basketball game. Afterward, they walked back to the courthouse in silence. Nick was called back to the stand and reminded that he was under oath before Sharon Forte began her questioning.

"Mr. Stokes...when we left off this morning I had been questioning you about the email on your computer...the one that had a photo of your old friend posed exactly like Jane Galloway was posed after her murder. I had asked you...and you didn't get a chance to respond...if you had ever been accused of murder. Would you answer now please?"

Her politeness and her professionalism did not fool him. He saw the gleam in her eye and the hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. He waited, and as expected Cavanaugh objected.

"Relevance, Your Honor?"

"I think it's very relevant, Your Honor," said Forte. "My client has been accused of murder when there is clearly some evidence that Mr. Stokes had just as much motive and opportunity. I think having been accused in the past of the same thing shows a history of such behavior and should be allowed into evidence."

Judge Perry appeared to consider the request for a moment. "All right. I'll allow it...for now. But get somewhere quickly with it, Counsel."

She smiled and thanked him, then turned to Nick. "Mr. Stokes?" She didn't have to repeat the question, but she did. She would say it out loud as many times as she could. "Have you ever been accused of murder?"

He answered as simply and plainly as he could. "Yes, I have." He thought he saw a brief expression of surprise cross her face, but she quickly recovered and spoke again.

"Tell us about that."

He briefly looked at the D.A. but there was no action on his part. Should he force her to be more specific? An open-ended question like that could get him to say something he shouldn't say when she hadn't even asked about it. On the other hand, it left him open to saying whatever he wanted before she shut him down. _Might as well go for it._ "I was _accused_ by the real killer. I wasn't even arrested, let alone brought to trial."

Apparently, it didn't matter that he'd gotten to say what he wanted to say, because Forte latched onto it anyway. She probably would have done so no matter what he'd said. "Ah...you were accused by the real killer?" She turned to look at Crane for a moment and then back at Nick. "Maybe that's what's happening here. Mr. Crane has been accused by the real killer."

That was enough for Cavanaugh. Again he expressed an objection. "The witness is not on trial here."

"Sustained. Ms. Forte, I believe you've gotten your point across. Now move on."

"Very well. Let's move on. I'll come back later to the events of the night Mr. Pearson died, but right now let's talk about the stalking motive that you testified to while being questioned by the prosecution. They would have us believe that Mr. Crane was somehow obsessed with you, and that's why he might be compelled to murder Ms. Galloway. The extent of this obsession, however, comes down to..." She walked over to the defense table and picked up a folder, opening it while she made her way back to the front of the room. She scanned the paper up and down then shrugged as she laid it in front of him. "It's basically just a list of things you found in a box in your closet, isn't it? Is this the same list that the prosecution went over with you earlier in your testimony?"

Nick looked down at it and answered, "Yes, it is."

"Well, then...let's just go over it, shall we?" She picked the list back up and looked at it, laughing a little. "This is quite a little collection, but it doesn't seem to be anything really out of the ordinary." She looked at Nick. "This is supposed to be the collection of a stalker? Where is all of the creepy stuff? Looks like..." She scanned the list again. "Movie tickets? A magnet? A dental appointment card? Poker chip? Come on, Mr. Stokes...are you sure this isn't just a box of things you threw together when you were cleaning up one day or something?"

"Of course not," he said firmly.

"Well, if Mr. Crane did indeed stow these things away in your closet, they must have had special meaning to him. You two apparently went to the movies together, didn't you?"

"No."

"The tickets are for the same theater on the same night for the same movie purchased just a few minutes apart. So if you say one of these tickets was for Mr. Crane...although we have no _proof_ of that...you must have gone together." She stood in front of him with her arms crossed.

"I didn't go to the movies with him," Nick stated emphatically. "I didn't do anything with him."

"Perhaps you played cards with him? Hence the poker chip?"

Trying to keep his cool, Nick responded simply, "No."

She pressed further as she checked the list again. "Maybe he drove you to the dentist?" He refused to respond this time, and she said, "No? All right, Mr. Stokes...I'm not going to ask you anything else about these things as it seems your claim will be the same for each. You maintain that these items were collected from around your house by Mr. Crane and stashed away by him in your closet. Then let me ask you this. Were Mr. Crane's fingerprints found anywhere on this box?"

_Of course not, damn it._ "There were no prints found on the box," he answered simply.

"And on the items inside of the box? Surely Mr. Crane's prints were on those. Otherwise I don't know how anyone could claim or prove that he ever touched them, let alone stole them and stashed them away. Were his prints found on the items?"

"They were not."

"Not on _any_ of them? Not a single one?"

He sighed quietly. "No."

"Okay, then." She smiled smugly. "Let's go back to the night that Morris Pearson died in your living room. Yesterday we discussed how you let him into the house, he disappeared while you took a phone call, and then he and Mr. Crane came crashing through your ceiling. Mr. Crane was wearing your clothes, and you say he made mention of people getting in the way of your relationship with him. In your previous testimony, you described how he was surprised that you didn't know who he was, yet...you admit that you remembered he had installed your cable, correct?"

_Admit?_ She made it sound like he had been trying to hide something...like he'd been caught in a lie. "Once he told me who he was...I remembered...barely."

"You and Mr. Crane seem to be on two different pages about your relationship. But even if you two weren't friends...even if you hadn't seen him again since the day he installed your cable...how long would you say he was at the house the day he came to do that?"

Nick shrugged. "I don't know. A few hours maybe?"

"In your deposition you claim that the night of Mr. Pearson's death Mr. Crane said the two of you had talked at length while he was in your home before...talked about what you did for a living and that he even gave you some extra channels for free. You don't recall that conversation? You barely remembered Mr. Crane at all despite being in the home with him for at least three hours?"

"He was the cable guy! I don't know! I made small talk, I guess. I just...it just wasn't a big deal...nothing I would remember later." In that instant Nick saw a look on the woman's face that made him feel like he had just been snared in a net. Crane, however...Nick glanced over at him...wore a look of pure rage that quickly switched to dejection as he felt the eyes upon him.

Forte continued. "As I said...two very different takes on your relationship. I can certainly understand why Mr. Crane would be upset or disappointed that you didn't remember him after all of that. Especially given that he had quite possibly just saved your life by catching Mr. Pearson in your attic."

"He didn't _save_ my life. He killed Pearson and he was going to kill me next."

The woman laughed a little. "Now, the court can't convict Mr. Crane for something you _think_ he was _going_ to do, Mr. Stokes. But let's talk about it. How would he have done that?"

Nick clasped his hands together tightly to keep them from shaking, partly from fury and partly from remembering the fear he had felt that night. "Well..." he said evenly and deliberately, "since he was pointing a gun in my face I guess he would have done it by pulling the trigger."

"Oh. So Mr. Crane came to your house with a gun intending to kill you?" She saw him start to answer and then stop, considering what she had just said, and she frowned and asked, "_Did_ Mr. Crane bring a gun with him to your house?"

His heart had sunk when he realized where she was going with this. And he had no choice but to go with her. He looked briefly behind her at the D.A. and silently hoped he could somehow make this better when he questioned him in redirect. "No." He looked up at Forte and left the ball in her court.

"He didn't bring a gun? Then where did he get the gun you say he was pointing at you?"

"I testified to that earlier. It was mine. I got it out after Mr. Pearson disappeared...after my supervisor told me on the phone that Crane had been in my house and that the police were on the way in case he showed up. Then when they crashed through the ceiling...I dropped it. And Crane picked it up."

Forte paced in front of the witness stand as she spoke. "So you had the gun first? And Mr. Crane picked it up. You were a bit disoriented, weren't you? You'd been attacked...you had a concussion...you were on medication... it was late at night. Perhaps Mr. Crane took the gun away from you to protect you...and him."

"I don't think so," Nick snorted.

"Mr. Stokes, you had just been released from the hospital and had been advised not to drive and it was recommended that you not be left alone. You were suffering from a concussion which is a form of a traumatic brain injury. It can cause loss of consciousness, nausea, irritability, and disorientation. In addition to that, you were prescribed Vicodin for your pain. The drug manufacturer lists among possible side effects from this medication...drowsiness, double vision, blurred vision..."

"I didn't _have_ any of that," he interrupted.

"Let me finish, please." For effect, she started over. "Drowsiness, double vision, blurred vision, confusion, and..." She looked at her notes then back at him. "Abnormal nervous system function affecting mental alertness."

"Those are rare side effects! It doesn't mean I had them."

"But it's possible," she countered. "And therefore it would be possible that you misheard Mr. Crane when you say he said these things about killing Jane Galloway...about wanting to open up a body...about what happens when you shoot someone in the head. Not only might you have misheard them, but you might have imagined them altogether."

"I did not imagine it!" Nick replied angrily. He again looked at Cavanaugh for help, but the man just gave him what was meant to be an encouraging nod. "That's what he said," he stated firmly.

Forte let the silence in between them hang in the air for a moment before she spoke again, still sounding disbelieving. "And you say that you feared he came to the house intending to kill you? Even though he didn't bring a gun with him to your house?"

"He had _my_ gun pointed at _my_ head. If he didn't intend to kill me when he came to the house, then he sure as hell changed his mind once he got there."

"He may have had the gun pointed at you...I can't say for sure. There were no other witnesses and as I've said, your capacity to discern what was going on around you was possibly diminished by your head injury and medication. But let's assume he did point the gun at you and he did say the things you claim...about what a bullet would do to a skull at close range...those graphic things you testified to earlier. He didn't pull the trigger, did he? In fact, you testified that you wrestled the gun away from him...but not to stop him from shooting you. What was Mr. Crane doing with the gun when you lunged for it, Mr. Stokes?"

_You've got to be kidding me._ She was right. In the end, Crane hadn't tried to kill him. But up until the last second Nick had been sure that he would...that this would be his last moment alive here on earth. The fact that it didn't turn out that way was of no comfort to him. He still could feel the hard floor beneath his knees before he was ordered to stand up and stared face to face with Crane, the gun held steadily between them and aimed at his head. It was as if it had happened yesterday. In fact, with the nightmares he'd been having, it might as well have _been_ yesterday.

"Mr. Stokes? I asked you..._what_ was Mr. Crane doing with the gun when you tried to get it away from him?"

He shook his head a little to clear it, then took a deep breath. "He put it under his chin."

"How?" she asked. "Could you show me with your hand?" She formed her own hand into the shape of a gun, like a child playing cops and robbers.

"Objection!" Cavanaugh shouted.

Forte turned her attention to the judge. "Your Honor, I believe I know what Mr. Stokes is implying when he made his statement about the gun, but I'd like it to be clear to the jury. There are several ways this could be interpreted. I just want to be clear about what the witness is implying."

"Sustained. Mr. Stokes, please do as she asked."

By this point Nick was seething inside. That night in his house he had been under Crane's control, forced to do as he had said at gunpoint. And now the defense attorney was doing the same thing, compelling him to tell the story that _she_ wanted the jury to hear, regardless of the way it actually happened. The woman was staring at him. The judge was staring at him. Everyone was staring and waiting. He slowly raised his right hand, his thumb in the air, and pulled three fingers back leaving his index finger pointing forward at Forte. He almost smiled at the thoughts that crossed his mind in that moment, and he briefly considered aiming his hand at Crane before he quickly sobered back up. "Like this," he said as he put his hand under his face, his index finger pointing up under his chin.

Forte nodded. "Like that. He put the barrel of the gun..._your_ gun...under his chin pointing up. What did you think he was going to do?"

Nick put his hand down._ Just get this over with and get me the hell out of here._ "At that point...now that the gun wasn't pointed at me anymore...I thought he was going to shoot himself."

"Shoot himself. In the head. So effectively, you thought he was going to kill himself."

"Yes."

"And you wanted to stop him. The intruder...the so-called stalker...the man you say murdered two people and assaulted you previously that day and who, up until that moment, you feared was about kill you too...you wanted to save his life?"

"It was instinct. It's what I'm trained to do."

She shook her head slowly. "This man had done nothing except try to get your attention. He spent time with you, thought the two of you were friends...had some sort of relationship...and you didn't even recognize him. Why was he going to kill himself in your home, Mr. Stokes? What did he say before he put the gun under his chin? What did he want?"

"He said...he wanted me to remember his name."

* * *

**Well, not sure if anyone has been waiting for this chapter or not, but here it is. :-)**


	18. Chapter 18

_She shook her head slowly. "This man had done nothing except try to get your attention. He spent time with you, thought the two of you were friends...had some sort of relationship...and you didn't even recognize him. Why was he going to kill himself in your home, Mr. Stokes? What did he say before he put the gun under his chin? What did he want?"_

_"He said...he wanted me to remember his name."_

"He just wanted you to remember his name," Forte repeated, sounding sad and shaking her head. She sighed and looked at the judge. "Your Honor, I have just a couple more questions for this witness, however I need to introduce some evidence that has not yet been recorded."

"Counsel, approach the bench, please," Judge Perry instructed, and both attorneys complied. There was a flurry of hushed conversation and Forte opened her folder to show both men what she planned to talk about. After a short discussion, both attorneys went back to their places, D.A. Cavanaugh looking less than pleased but resigned, and the judge addressed the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen, the defense has asked to introduce some evidence not previously recorded or reviewed by the prosecution, however the prosecution has now examined it and it will be considered for this trial. Ms. Forte, you may continue."

"Thank you, Your Honor." She turned her attention back to Nick. "Mr. Stokes, I just have one further issue to question you about. You were recently the focus of an article in the Las Vegas Crime Lab's departmental newsletter, were you not?" She produced a copy of the article with Nick's photo at the top...identical to the ones Greg had plastered all over the lab. "Would you please tell the jury what this is?"

He cringed when he saw it. It wasn't enough that it had been distributed to the whole department. It wasn't enough that even his friends had made fun of him for it. Now here it was...about to be seen by the jury and the people in the gallery and put into the permanent trial record. It wasn't anything to be ashamed of, but still he hated the attention. As he had told Greg...he was just doing his job. He wasn't different from anyone else doing the job. He looked at the paper and answered, "It's a page from the newsletter...like you said. They did a little article about me last month."

"Don't be so modest, Mr. Stokes," Forte laughed and took back the paper. "Your Honor, I have copies to distribute to the jury so that they can read the full text." The judge instructed the bailiff to hand out the papers, and Forte continued. "Let me just read some excerpts from my copy here. This would be from the Forensics Spotlight of the newsletter. The headline is 'Crime Stopper' and there is a large photo of the witness, CSI Stokes." She cleared her throat before reading from the page. "Nick Stokes is no stranger to danger or surprises on the job, but when the CSI Level 3 investigator recently was called to investigate a mysterious death in the Mojave Desert, even he couldn't have predicted what he would find. 'It was a deceased male...a scuba diver...lodged up in a tree,' Stokes recalled. 'Never seen anything like it. For a while there we thought maybe that old urban legend had come true.' But it turned out to be a series of accidents and coincidences, all leading up to the body ending up in the tree. The life of..."

"Objection. Relevance, Your Honor?" Cavanaugh sounded weary. The woman's games were beginning to wear on him.

"We discussed this, Your Honor," she said. "I'm getting to the relevant point."

"Sustained. Get to it _now_, Ms. Forte," Judge Perry commanded.

Unflustered, she turned back to the paper and continued reading. "The life of a CSI is one full of surprises, most of them unpleasant, but every once and awhile there is a bright spot. The police department and the crime lab often hear from people who are angry about the way something was handled or the outcome of a case. So it is always a nice surprise when a positive note is received."

_Jesus Christ, is she gonna read the whole damned thing?_ Nick shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the defense attorney went on.

"The department recently received a letter praising CSI Stokes for his handling of a home invasion robbery. The following are excerpts from this letter. 'When my neighbor's home was broken into, he and his wife were very upset, of course. I went over to see what I could do to help, and I watched the police ask them questions and look for clues. The Crime Scene Investigator assigned to the case was Nick Stokes, and I was very impressed by his professionalism and how concerned he was for my neighbors. They told me later that he helped calm them down and took care of everything for them, even arranging for a watch on the house for the next few nights because they were afraid to be there. Besides being good with people, he is good at his job because the case was solved quickly and my neighbors got all of their stuff back. I think Mr. Stokes deserves a reward or something for his good work. I just wanted to let you know what an asset he is to the police department.'"

Nick's brow furrowed, trying to recall this case, but he couldn't. There were too many just like it. It wasn't unusual for homeowners to be afraid after a break-in, and he had arranged for police watches many times. It wasn't a big deal. But he guessed it was a big deal for the victims. Despite how embarrassing the newsletter article was for him, he had to admit hearing about the letter had made him feel good. It was nice to get a little appreciation now and then. But he knew Forte hadn't brought this up to make him look like a good guy, and he wondered what she was up to. He didn't have to wonder very long.

"Mr. Stokes, did the department tell you about this letter before the article came out in the newsletter?"

"Yeah...I mean...just that someone wrote a letter complimenting me and they wanted to write something about it."

"Did you read the letter?" she asked.

"No. Like I said...they just told me about it and wrote up the article."

"So..." She walked over and stood in front of the jury box, then turned to face him. "Someone thought pretty highly of you to write that letter, didn't they?"

He suddenly had a sinking feeling in his stomach. His eyes shifted to his right and fell upon Crane at the defense table who looked back at him with a dejected expression on his face. His attention was brought back to the defense attorney as she spoke again.

"Don't you think so, Mr. Stokes?"

"It was a nice letter," he answered cautiously, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"Now...I don't have the actual letter...and the article contained only select quotes, but it's very complimentary. The writer had a lot of nice things to say about you...seemed almost in awe of you. Did anyone tell you who wrote the letter?"

He set his jaw and spat out, "No."

Forte looked at the judge. "Your Honor, I would like to introduce the other evidence that we discussed a moment ago."

"Proceed."

The bailiff approached Forte and took the papers from her to distribute to the jury. She turned and placed one in front of Nick. "This is a sworn statement by Melissa Burke, Director of Public Relations for the Las Vegas Police Department. Her office received this letter and passed it on to the newsletter staff who subsequently wrote the article about you, Mr. Stokes. Ms. Burke has identified the writer of the letter in this sworn statement. Would you please tell the court who wrote the letter?"

He didn't have to look at it. In fact, he would have answered _without_ looking at it had he not known that doing so would not fly in court. So he cast a cursory glance at the paper, confirming what he already suspected, and looked back at the woman. He was trying to keep his cool...to remain professional and not think about the implications of this new information. There would be time for that later. Still, the knowledge left him shaken. He felt his heart begin to pound faster, and his stomach clenched up in knots. "It says he wrote it," he answered almost angrily, refusing to say the man's name.

"It says it was written by _whom_?" she pressed.

_All right then._ He could play the game too. "It says...uh..." He leaned forward and looked the paper up and down as though he needed to find it to remember what it said, squinted his eyes as though trying to read, and then leaned back in his seat. "Him." He tilted his head toward the defense table. "Crane." He still could not bring himself to say his full name.

"Nigel Crane." Forte came closer and picked up the paper she had put in front of Nick. "Nigel Crane wrote a glowing letter of accommodation to the police department praising you for your service. He said a lot of really nice things...sounded like he really admired you. And his letter got the attention of the higher ups in the department, didn't it? It put you in a very good light with them and got you featured in the newsletter. So again...I find nothing here that suggests Mr. Crane held any kind of grudge against you or was out to get you. You said that in the final moments at your house that night...when he was about to attempt suicide...that he told you that all he wanted was for you to remember his name." She sounded sad again as she brought the questioning back to that night. "Tell me, Mr. Stokes, after everything we've covered here...and in light of this letter which you had never before read the details of or even known who had written it...why would this man be a danger to you or to anyone else?"

"Objection!" called out Cavanaugh. "Calls for speculation."

"Sustained."

"No further questions." Forte walked back over to the defense table where Nigel Crane sat. He meekly peered up at her as she approached, and as she sat down she put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a brief hug.

_Are you fucking kidding me?_ Nick glanced at the gallery and saw Warrick rolling his eyes while Catherine had a confused, disgusted look on her face. He looked at Cavanaugh and could hardly wait to see how the D.A. was going to address everything that the defense had thrown at him. But wait he would.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Judge Perry. "It's getting late and we're going to adjourn for now. Court will reconvene at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Court is dismissed."

As people filed out of the room, Nick went over to where his friends stood next to the D.A.

Catherine smiled at him and put her hand on his arm. "You did good."

Warrick was eyeing the door where Crane and Forte had just exited. "Can you believe that shit? He's over there act like some moping baby and she's dotin' on him like a mama hen."

"Yeah...yeah..." Nick dismissed them both and turned his attention to Cavanaugh. "Did you know about that letter?"

"No. You saw me go up there when she introduced it."

"But did you know he _wrote_ it?" he persisted. "Did you keep that from me?" He looked at Catherine and Warrick. "Did _you_?"

"Of course not, Nick," said Cavanaugh. "I didn't even know there _was_ a letter...just an article. Believe me...any evidence I had...I would have made you aware of it before I put you up there on the stand."

Warrick chimed in, "Nick, c'mon, man...nobody knew it was him. PR wouldn't give out that information to anybody. Why would they? Right, Cath?"

She agreed. "And we wouldn't keep anything like that from you. I'm sure Crane just told his lawyer about it and she went looking for it. No one else would have known except PR, but they would have just put a copy in your file and not had anything else to do with it."

It was as though a light went off in Nick's head. He set clenched his teeth and stood up straighter, then pushed past them mumbling something.

"Nick? Nick!" Warrick called after him, but the man kept walking straight out the back of the room without turning around.

* * *

Gil Grissom was currently engaged in a battle of wits with David Hodges in the trace lab and found himself exhausted but unable to escape the man's obsessive attempts to impress him. So he was grateful when Nick interrupted them.

"Grissom," Nick hurriedly cut off Hodges just as he was finishing a sentence. "I need to see you."

"Excuse me..." the trace tech said with great annoyance."Gil and I were in the middle of a..."

"Shut it, Hodges." Nick looked at Grissom. "Now?" He turned and walked down the hall toward the supervisor's office without waiting for an answer.

Grissom shrugged at Hodges. "Sorry, David...we'll have to continue this another time." He left to follow Nick as Hodges craned his neck out the doorway and called after him.

"When?! I'm free all evening! I can put you down for just after my dinner break. Or you could join me! Okay, Gil? Gil?!"

"Thanks for saving me," Grissom laughed as he entered his office and closed the door behind him. But Nick didn't even seem to hear him as he paced rapidly back and forth in front of the man's desk. Grissom took a seat behind it and invited, "Sit down. Are you okay? Did something happen today in court?"

"You knew about the letter," Nick accused, still pacing.

"What letter?"

Nick stopped his pacing and leaned over the desk. "The letter sent to Public Relations...the one that made them put that damn article in the newsletter!"

So that's what this was about. "Nick...sit down. Please." When the other man relented and sat down, he spoke again, trying to explain. "Of course I knew about it. I'm your supervisor. They told me about it and gave it to me for your file. Remember? I brought it up at the staff meeting and told you...and everyone else...what it said."

He nodded...fuming. "But not who wrote it."

"What?"

"But not...who..._wrote_ it," he said again, emphasizing the words.

"It didn't mean anything then, Nick. And by the time we knew who Crane was and what he'd done, he was already arrested. And I honestly didn't make the connection. I didn't remember his name from that letter."

"Remember his name?" Nick snorted. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

Growing more concerned now, Grissom asked, "What's this all about?"

"What this is _about_ is that you _knew_. You _knew_ Crane wrote that letter about me. And you didn't think it was important to _tell_ me it was him?"

Grissom took a moment to lean back in his chair, hoping a pause would break the tension some before he answered calmly, "Nick, I didn't keep it from you on purpose. I told you...I didn't make the connection once he came up as a suspect in this case. I didn't realize it until yesterday when PR told me the letter had been subpoenaed by the defense. And I assumed they had disclosed it to the prosecution who would go over it with you before it was brought up in court."

"Well they didn't! I sat up there like a fool while that..._woman_...read it and made it sound like that psycho was some kind of fan of mine or something! Like...like...I was his hero or something! This guy's been watching me that long? He wrote that letter even before Jane was killed?"

"Nick...listen...calm down. The letter was just...part of Crane's place in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs...somewhere in the middle...friendship and belonging...he was..."

"Look..." Nick leaned forward in his chair, pointing at the other man. "I don't want to hear any more about that, okay? Jesus, Grissom! You did this that night too! You think some fucking psychology lesson is going to make me feel better? Like I don't matter? Like it could have happened to _anybody_?"

Grissom tried to get a word in, but Nick stood up and continued his rant.

"Tell me again how this isn't about me!" he challenged. "That's what you're saying, isn't it? That's what you said that night...it's not about me. Well it _is_, Grissom! It _is_ about me! He wrote that letter about _me_. He came into _my_ house. He watched _me._ He stole things from _me_. He followed _me_. Fuck, Grissom...he _killed_ somebody because of _me_!"

"Nick, he didn't..."

"Yes he _did_! He did all of that! You aren't even in the courtroom! How would you know? That woman...she's twisting everything around and making him out to be some kind of pathetic guy who just wanted a friend and making me sound like I'm crazy! And now _this_? This letter and that damned article..." He paced back and forth in front of the desk again, putting his hand to the back neck and rubbing the tense muscles there. He stopped walking and looked at Grissom who was sitting behind the desk looking perplexed.

"I'm sorry, Nick. I don't know what else to say."

He contemplated that for a moment, still squeezing the back of his neck with his fingers. When he stopped and put his hand down, he said simply, "You should have told me." He turned and walked to the door. Opening it, he lowered his head, shaking it, and without turning around uttered again, "You should have told me," before he walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

* * *

**Thanks for waiting for another chapter from me! I hope you like it! Please leave a little feedback in the box below. I really appreciate it! Thanks for reading! :-)**


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